


Primal Jaguar

by LilyK



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: While working on a dig in Peru, Blair discovers his benefactor owns a slave.





	Primal Jaguar

Dr. Blair Sandburg shifted uncomfortably and once again glanced surreptitiously at the man kneeling on the floor next to his host. The thin, flat band around the man's neck seemed too much like a collar to Blair, making him all the more uneasy. He could clearly see the symbols impressed into the leather. They marched around the one inch light brown band, creating a complete circle of small stylized jaguars. The design looked Incan, and Blair found himself unconsciously leaning closer. 

“You find my pequeño gato interesting, Señor Sandburg?” Vidal Medina said softly. 

Blair watched, almost entranced when Medina's hand reached out and barely touched the kneeling man. Realizing he was staring, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his host. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. Why is he-?” A sharp tug on Blair's sleeve distracted him, and he glanced over at his companion. Dr. Diego Ramos minutely shook his head and pursed his lips. Blair's eyes narrowed briefly then widened. He sighed softly, realizing that he had more than likely insulted their host. 

“Señor Medina, please excuse me. I didn't mean to overstep my bounds as your guest. Please accept my humblest apology.” Blair slightly bowed his head; then gave Medina an ingratiating smile. His insides churned. This man was funding a major expedition by providing hundreds of thousands of American dollars in a country where there wasn't a lot of money to waste on expeditions and excavations of ancient sites. However, he'd felt uncomfortable in Medina's presence the moment he'd been introduced to him earlier in the afternoon. Now with the unusual man kneeling beside Medina, he was even more convinced that his feelings about disliking him on sight were well-founded. 

“There is no need to apologize,” Medina said graciously. He lifted his glass of wine in a small salute to Blair before taking a sip. 

Blair smiled and copied Medina's gesture, lifting his own glass before sipping lightly, knowing that the man's pleasant demeanor was a front. He had made a serious blunder, and he quickly tried to repair the damage. 

“Thank you. You're hospitality is most...” Blair fumbled for a word, feeling like a hypocrite. He'd rather excuse himself from the uncomfortable dinner table, but good manners, especially in a Latino country such as Peru where machismo was valued, dictated that he express the proper gratitude for the generosity of their benefactor, especially now since he'd made a social blunder. “... gracious. My team and I can't thank you enough for your interest in the excavation of Site 442 and for allowing us to trespass onto your wonderful country.” 

“Of course, Señor Sandburg! You are most welcome. Dr. Ramos and I have discussed this excavation in great detail. I have the best of hopes for you and your team.” Medina took another sip of wine before he gazed at Blair. With a smile on his face and ice in his voice, he said, “My gato is my property, Señor.” 

Blair sputtered into his glass. “What?” he blurted out, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

Dr. Ramos cleared his throat, “I believe it is getting late. We must retire if we are to rise early to begin our work, Blair. Please excuse us.” 

Medina smiled. “I believe Señor Sandburg has a curiosity about my gato, Ramos.” His gaze was full of derision, causing the man's smile to fade and his head to drop. 

Blair swallowed when Medina turned back to him and said, “Now, ask me what you wish.” 

“I really don't-” 

“Do you wish to insult me?”

“No! Really. It's not any of my business.” 

Medina smiled, but his face was a stone mask. “We are not in your country, Señor. We are in mine. A man may speak freely. There is nothing you ask me that will insult me. Only your silence will do so.” 

Trapped now, Blair swallowed again and nervously glanced at Diego. He was extremely sorry he had gotten himself into this situation and didn't see a way out other than to comply. Trying to pick the most innocuous question he could think of, he asked, “Who is he?” 

“My pequeño gato is my slave.” 

Blair couldn't help himself; he had to look, had to stare at the man kneeling beside Medina. He appeared to be in his early forties, and for a – slave (even his mind stumbled over the dreadful word), in excellent condition. He had long, light brown hair that appeared clean and well kept. It was pulled back at the base of his neck and tied with a leather strip. His body was hard and firm, well-muscled in all the right places. Blair could see several scars marring the tanned skin. The man's chest rose and fell as he breathed, but otherwise he seemed to be carved of granite. He never moved, nor did he glance around, but remained in the exact same position during the entire meal: he knelt on the floor to the right of Medina's chair, facing the man, with his buttocks resting against his calf muscles and his arms crossed over his chest. It looked like a long-practiced position, which made Blair all the more uneasy. 

The man's eyes were opened, and occasionally blinked, but otherwise, he was unresponsive to the people in the room, including Medina. Taking another quick glance, from his angle, Blair saw that the slave's eyes looked to be blue, which surprised him. Most of the population in this large area were of dark skin and hair. Blair wondered about his parentage. Perhaps he descended from a line of marauders or conquerors from long ago ages who had traveled to this savage land, and his Anglo features came from that lineage. 

The passive face was strong, with a clean jaw line and a classic nose. When Blair looked closely, he saw the man's jaw muscle twitch on occasion. It was the only movement he had seen that was not strictly controlled. Scanning that face again, he sighed. The man would have been considered handsome back in the States, Blair knew, and for a fleeting moment, he wished he could take him and run far away from this place. Washington State seemed like paradise right now and an oh so desirable place to be. 

“Your slave?" Blair echoed, his stomach once again flipping. The little bit of food that he had eaten had settled into an unhappy lump, making him queasy. 

“Yes, Señor. I own him, body and soul. He responds to no one but me. He protects no one but me. His life belongs to me.” 

Blair looked away and fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“Does this distress you?” Medina asked conversationally, gaze still locked onto Blair. 

Ramos started to rise. “Please, Señor Medina...” 

Medina's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Please be seated,” he said softly, graciously... deadly. 

Ramos dropped back into his seat. 

“As I was saying, my little cat is mine to do with what I wish. He is quite – useful, however.” 

Blair felt the bile rising at the remark. He didn't want to even think about what Medina could find “useful” about the... Blair couldn't bring himself to even think in those terms again. How could he refer to another human being as a slave? It was beyond his comprehension that such things existed, although he had been in enough places in the world to have experienced firsthand the cruelties of man. 

“So what questions do you wish to ask?” Medina demanded. 

“I... What is he called?”

“He has no name. He is a slave. However, because of my affection for him, I call him my little cat because he moves like a jaguar. Sleek and powerful.” Medina's hand reached out again and this time, he stroked the man's broad, muscled shoulder. “He does not speak. He only serves. He is something to behold, is he not?” When Blair failed to answer, Medina chuckled. “You find the ownership of another human being distasteful? He is well cared for.” 

Blair couldn't help himself when he blurted out, “But he has scars on his back and legs!” 

“Ah, yes. Well, those are quite old. He has been with me many years, but in the beginning, he was a hard one to train. Now you see how well he behaves.” Medina rose. “Observe.” The man made a simple hand gesture and the slave rose. 

Blair let out a soft sound of surprise. The man, “Jaguar” (his mind finally settled on a name he felt comfortable with using) was tall, at least six feet. His legs were as well-muscled as his chest and arms. He wore a plain native wrap around his lower body, tied at the waist with a thin strip of woven material, while his upper body was bare. Besides the leather collar, he had a beaten silver ring threaded through his right nipple and on his left flank was a brand, old from the looks of it, again of the stylized jaguar. Blair watched mutely when Medina made another small gesture and Jaguar turned to face the table. His eyes did not waver, but stared over the heads of the guests. Only the rise and fall of his chest indicated that this was a living human being. 

“Why is he – marked with the jaguar?” Blair asked, unable to stop the question from falling from his lips. 

“It is his spirit guide. My shaman picked his protector in the spirit world. Do you believe such things?” 

“Yes,” Blair whispered, gaze sliding away from the man's body. “Yes, I believe.” He felt strange, almost mesmerized. It took all of his will power to look away, but he couldn't help himself; he had to look yet again. 

“Señor,” Medina said softly, “watch.” 

Medina reached out and plucked a table knife from beside his plate. He slowly drew the blade across Jaguar's pectoral muscle above the pierced nipple. A stream of blood ran down the man's body, but his face never flinched. His eyes never flickered. He did not react to the pain or to the blood now flowing freely down his chest and seeping onto the material of his wrap. 

Blair rose quickly, toppling his dining chair over backward. “Stop!” he shouted, racing toward the injured man. Cloth napkin in hand, he started to reach out to staunch the flow of blood, but Medina's hand firmly clamped down on Blair's wrist. 

“Do you wish to die?” Medina hissed. 

Blair froze. “No,” he answered hoarsely, his throat dry. 

“Touch him, and he will kill you instantly. I guarantee it. Only I may touch him. No one else has done so in more than twelve years, and he is trained to kill any who tries.” Medina's gaze held Blair's. “Know this. He is my slave. He lives or dies at my whim.” Medina entire attitude was one of total control and belief in his authority. He stared directly into Blair's eyes while the hand that did not still clutch the knife tugged at the tie holding the man's wrap. He allowed the material to fall to the floor. Releasing Blair's hand, he gave his guest a cold smile. 

Jaguar, now naked, stood unmoving. Blood ran freely from the cut and with the wrap removed, the red streak raced down his thigh, knee and leg, finally trailing down the side of his foot to make a small red stain on the Persian rug on which he stood. Medina held the slave's penis in his hand. 

“See this mark?” Medina asked, pointing. 

Blair felt himself involuntarily dragged to where Medina indicated. He was in the middle of a nightmare from which he couldn't wake. He tried to look away, but something unseen forced him to glance briefly. He blanched at what he saw. A twin of the mark that was branded onto Jaguar's left flank was also burned into the flesh that Medina now held in his hand. 

“Every man, woman and child for a thousand miles knows that this slave is mine. He bears the marks I placed on his body.” Medina lightly squeezed the flaccid organ. “He is mine, and has been for more than a dozen years. He will be mine for another dozen, and then another.” Laughing, Medina shrugged, fingering the penis in his hand. “It is somewhat of a waste that he is a eunuch.” 

“You castrated him!” Blair shouted, no longer caring how much he insulted this man. Medina could take his fortune and shove it as far as Blair was concerned. 

Medina's laugh was full of disdain and his look clearly indicated that he thought his guest was a very stupid man. He explained slowly, much as one would a child. “There was no need. It was part of his training. I take great pride in what I have accomplished.” Medina palmed the limp flesh in his hand. “He is impotent; it makes him a better slave. It was the most difficult part of his training, and it look many long months, but as you can see, I was, as usual, successful. Now he does not respond to any of man's base desires. See?” Medina stroked the unresponsive organ. After a few more touches, he removed his hand and made yet another minute gesture. The slave turned abruptly and disappeared through the archway on the far wall. 

Blair felt his stomach lurch again. “He needs help! That cut needs stitches.” 

“He will take care of it.” 

“What? That's utterly ridiculous!” Blair stood tall and glared with as much dislike as he could. “He can't possibly suture that himself,” he said, already realizing from the amused look that Medina was giving him that it was exactly what Jaguar would do. “That's barbaric!” 

“This is a barbaric country, Señor Sandburg.” Medina returned to his place at the table and after draping his napkin across his lap, he smiled at his guests and asked, “Dessert, gentlemen? My cook has prepared something very tantalizing for this evening. I believe it involves mashua. It is a crop of ours that is known for its aphrodisiac properties. And I would like a cold glass of pisco.”'

\------------------------------------- 

“I can't stay here another minute,” Blair said tensely, angrily tossing the few things he had taken from his pack earlier back into the canvas bag. “I'm going out to the site, and I refuse to set foot back in this house!” 

Diego sighed. “I should have warned you, Blair. It's my fault, but I was afraid you would have refused to come. But you must adapt! In my country, these things are sometimes – acceptable! Do you wish to destroy our work? Do you know how many people we employ? We pay more for six months of their labors than they could possibly make in five years otherwise!” Diego grabbed Blair's upper arms. “Other than work in the coca fields, most of these people have no chance! It is up to us to provide them the means to prosper!” At Blair's scowl, Diego continued. “I need you. My country needs you. There are many great treasures that need careful excavation. The looters are ruining our heritage!” 

Blair shook his head. “I don't know if I can do this. Work just five miles from here knowing that he was paying for us to be here? I don't know if I can take his money and live with myself.” His hand waved haphazardly toward the dining room. “How can anybody do that to another person? That man is being tortured!” 

“He is provided with all he needs.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Blair demanded. 

Diego started to nod, but stopped. “No. But the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few.” 

“That's a bunch of shit.” 

“Will you stay?” 

“I don't know. Right now, I'm tired, but I can't sleep here.” 

“You must. It would be a great insult if you left Medina's house in the dead of night. He would be disgraced.” 

“Fuck Medina!” 

Diego looked knowingly at Blair. “Can you say that knowing you will ruin many lives?” 

“That is so not fair!” Blair said. “I can't condone slavery! And that poor man deserves to be free!” 

“Blair, I agree with you, but please consider my position! I recommended you to the Peruvian Heritage Foundation. If you leave without finishing your work, I will be branded as incompetent.” 

Blair's face flushed with anger. “You're backing me into a corner!” 

“I'm sorry.” Diego gave Blair an ingratiating smile and pressed a hand over his own heart. Bowing slightly, he begged, “Please. For me. For my country. For our field workers, and for the other anthropologists who will benefit from our work. Please stay.” 

Blair's lips thinned into a hard line. “I'll stay here tonight but I will never set foot in this house again. Are we clear on this?” 

“Yes. Gracias. Thank you. You are truly an honorable man.” Diego smiled and patted Blair's arm. “Good night.” 

“Yeah. 'Night.” Diego left quickly, closing the door behind him. Blair shook his head in disgust and stared at the closed door. “What's good about it?” he muttered.

With a deep sigh, Blair went to get ready for bed. He used the toilet, brushed his teeth, and changed into sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It was not a cool night, but his heart was chilled at what he had seen. He turned out the light and climbed between the finely-woven cotton sheets. He was tense and angry, hating that he had let himself be backed into a corner; had been convinced to compromise his principles. He started a small mantra his mother had taught him to clear his mind and relax his body. After many minutes, he finally slept. 

\------------------------------------

Blair woke with a start when a hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. 

“Please, Señor. You must be quiet!” 

Blair blinked rapidly, and he finally focused enough in the darkened room to see a a young man staring down at him. He pushed the hand away. 

“Who the hell are you?” Blair demanded. 

“Quiet! Do you wish for him to hear us?” 

Blair quickly appraised his visitor. The young man looked to be an older teenager, thin and dark, with a nice haircut and clean clothing. He didn't look like some street urchin who had broken in looking for something to steal. 

“Who are you?” Blair repeated quietly. 

“I am Rafael Medina.” 

“What?” Blair said. “Get out!” 

“You must listen to me! Do you wish to save him?”

“Save who? Why must I listen? If Medina's your father, then you are your father's son.” 

“No, Señor.” Rafael nervously glanced around. “I am not my father's son. At least not this particular father.” Before Blair could ask any further questions, he added, “Do you wish to help him or not?” 

Blair realized he was now referring to Jaguar. “Yes. Yes, I do.” 

“Then you must meet me in town tomorrow. It is market day and there will be much confusion. He will not be able to hear us if we are very careful.” 

“Hear us? Who? What is going on?” 

Medina removed something from his pants' pocket. “Are you not the anthropologist from the United States of America? Did you not write the manifesto, Ancient Sentinels in the Modern World?” He palmed the small device and held it out for Blair to see. “Do you not recognize this?” 

Blair's attention was riveted on the white battery-operated mechanism. “Yes, I am,” he whispered before he asked redundantly, “Is it a white noise generator?”

“Yes! Now do you understand?” Rafael asked softly, excitedly. 

“Who...?” Blair shook his head, looking puzzled. 

“He is a Sentinel.” 

Before Blair could respond, Rafael slunk to the door and opened it. He slipped half way through and stopped. “At Los Lobos, at noon.” 

The conversation had switched “he's” so quickly, that Blair was now confused to whom Rafael was referring. “Your father is a Sentinel?” Blair asked, horrified. 

With a sigh, Rafael shook his head. “No!” he whispered forcefully before mumbling, “Idiota.” The dark eyes looked at him appraisingly. “My father's cat.” With those final words, he disappeared. 

\------------------------------------

“Una cerveza, por favor,” Blair said to the barmaid who stood beside his table. She leaned over, showing her ample bosom. 

“Sí, Señor,” she said with an inviting smile. “¿Cualquier cosa?” she added. 

“No, nothing else. Gracias,” Blair responded, giving her a wan smile. His mind was elsewhere so he quickly brushed off her flirting. 

Obviously undeterred at his lack of interest, she responded with a giggle, “De nada,” before she went to fetch his beer. 

Ten minutes later, Rafael Medina quietly entered. Wearing a baseball cap pulled down over his head and workman's clothing, he sat down at Blair's table and ordered a shot of tequila and a beer from the helpful waitress. When she had served Rafael, and after neither man responded to her, she left with an annoyed sniff. 

“Tequila? At 10 am?” Blair said. 

With a shrug, Rafael tossed back the shot and took a pull from his beer bottle. “Living in my father's house, one must learn to drink at a young age in order to squelch the bile that rises in order to be able to function in his presence.” 

“Harsh words from a man who has taken all that was offered, and more.” 

Another shrug. “It was my due.” 

Blair sighed and looked around. “Listen, man. You asked me if I wanted to help...” His throat dried up, and he stopped to take a sip of beer before he continued, “...your father's slave. So talk.” 

Rafael nodded. “I will talk, but you must believe. Therein lies the key.” 

“We'll see how I feel after you tell me what's going on.” 

“Will you listen with the open mind?” Rafael studied Blair intently. 

“Yes.” 

“Swear it.” 

Blair rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on...” 

“A man's word is his bond. Swear to listen and then judge.” 

Blair carefully searched the man's face. He let his instincts be his guide, and after a long perusal of his companion, he nodded. 

“Gracias. I am eighteen now, and a man. It is time that I seek revenge for the murder of my parents. Medina killed my entire village when I was just a few hours old.”

“How do you-?” 

“Please, let me say this in my own fashion. I will reveal all, including my reasons for wanting this man's destruction. You must give me the chance to speak before we are discovered!” 

“Sorry. Sorry.” Blair slid his chair closer to Rafael and nervously glanced around. Rafael's uneasiness was contagious. It settled into Blair quickly, and he fidgeted in his seat. “Go ahead.” 

“I was but a few hours old when my parents were killed. Medina and his men were searching for slaves for the market. It was his primary occupation then. My village had a population of 146. The warriors put up a fight and mostly all were killed. A few children survived, a couple of old people, and one girl. That girl, Angelina, was my mother's sister. My tía had just had her firstborn only two months before my mother gave birth to me. The marauders took my aunt and her child captive, along with me. The child was a female, so she was sold at the market because of her sex. Because he had no sons, I was taken by Medina to raise as his own. What Medina did not know then, and does not know to this day, is that the young girl whose child he sold and whom he kept as a wet nurse for me, was my aunt. It was only after I grew old enough to understand the many stories she told me from the time I suckled at her breast, did I know of my heritage. My aunt died last year, still the property of Medina, but not before she gave me these.” 

Rafael slid his hands, which were hidden under the table, close enough to Blair so that he could see the blue and red cloth bandanna held in them. When Blair glanced up, Rafael nodded. Blair peeled back the cloth and sucked in a shocked breath when he saw what lay there. He reached out and touched the tarnished pile of silver metal. Carefully turning one of the small, flat rectangles over, he saw that they were indeed what he had first thought. Military dog tags. More specifically, United States Army military dog tags. He raised his head to look at Rafael. 

"It is as you see. He is from where you are from: los Estados Unidos de América.” 

“Do you know which one he is?” Blair asked, turning the tags over one by one and reading the names. 

“Yes. When he was bought into the compound, I was about five years old. I was playing in the dirt beside the drive when he was dragged from the truck. This one,” Medina's fingers touched one of the silver plates, “dropped from around his neck, and I kept it secret from all but my aunt. When Medina ordered her to destroy the man's satchel, she found the rest of them in his belongings. Medina never knew that my aunt and I were of the same blood. He never knew that she told me of his treachery, lies and deceit. I used his money to gain my education and now that I am of age, I want him destroyed.” 

“How?” Blair asked, dragging his eyes away from the tags to look at Rafael. 

“By taking away the one thing he values above all else: the Sentinel.” 

“How do you know he is a Sentinel?” 

Rafael looked knowingly at Blair. “I knew he was an unusual man for many years, but it was not until I read tales about the ancient guardians of our ancestors that I realized that my father's slave had the same properties. I have a computer, Señor. I speak three languages, and I am an intelligent man.” 

Blair almost smiled at Rafael's bravado. “I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sorry.” 

“Do not be sorry. Be helpful.” 

A large group of rowdy men entered the cantina and shouted for cervezas. Blair leaned over and said, “We need to go somewhere else to talk.” 

“No. This is the reason I chose this place. It is loud and noisy. No one will take notice of us as long as we spend money on alcohol.” 

Blair nodded and dropped a five dollar bill on the table. The waitress appeared immediately with two more bottles of lukewarm beer. She snatched up the money and with a small smile, disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. 

“Which one?” Blair asked. 

“This one, Señor.” Rafael touched one of the tags. 

Blair pulled it from the nest of metal and carefully examined the tarnished surface. His name, along with other vital information, was listed. James J. Ellison. So, Jaguar now had a name. 

Excitedly, Blair palmed the dog tag. “May I keep this?” 

“If you will help me, then you may have them all.” 

“I'll help you.” 

Rafael looked relieved. “You believe me?” 

“I believe your story, but you must know that I have no influence in your country. What do you think I could possibly do to help you?” 

“You could release him from my father's control. That would be the ultimate insult. The slave is his highest prized possession. Even his many other accomplishments are nothing compared to his pride at taming the Sentinel.” Rafael drank some beer before he added, “You could tell your government, and they could bomb his hacienda.” 

Blair smiled. “I doubt they'd do that, but they would be interested in the MIAs.” 

“MIAs?”

“Missing in Action. Men who don't return from missions and wars, and who are unaccounted for. Their families would like to know their fate.” Blair sipped the bitter brew, then asked, “Since you have read my papers, how do you account for his behavior? A Sentinel is a natural protector. He isn't a killer. He's a watchman; a guardian of he tribe.” 

Rafael leaned closer once again. “Even though I was only five when the slave was brought to our house, I still have nightmares. His screams from the torture echo through my dreams even to this day. Medina knew how to turn his senses against him. He used them as an aid in turning the man into what he is today. Now, he has no feelings, no heart, no mind. He is an empty shell trained to be a deadly weapon. You could think of killing him as one of your options.” 

“What? Kill him! Are you nuts?” 

“Keep your voice down! Even in this place, there could be ears that should not hear!” Rafael sighed. “My tía was in her early twenties when the Sentinel was brought to the compound. She told me the stories. She would not lie. He was captured in a sweep for more slaves for the market. His shaman was murdered because he tried to protect the Sentinel. Even to this day, I remember the name my aunt told me.” Rafael's gaze bore into Blair's. “How could I not. Before the man was cursed and became speechless, he cried his friend's name many times even as he begged to die under my father's hand. Incacha. I will never forget it.” 

Blair swallowed hard. His stomach turned once again and the beer settled uncomfortably. He burped into his hand. “Why would your father conduct this – torture where everyone in the household could hear?” 

“Think about it, Señor. Most of the servants are uneducated and ignorant. They would starve if not for the few coins he tosses them every week. Besides, they feared for their own lives. As long as Medina's attention was turned to someone else, they were safe. Who would they tell? Nobody cares. Each man for himself, as the saying goes.” Rafael nervously looked around again before adding, “But I remember the cries. I was terrified because I always thought he would come for me one night. I would wake up strapped down and then I would be his next victim.” 

“That's an awful way for a child to grow up.” Blair tore the label from his beer bottle before he asked, “Has he – trained many slaves?” 

“Si. Yes. It makes him much money. Rich landowners and the wealthy coca dealers pay many dollars for a well-trained slave. One who questions nothing. Who is pleasing to look upon. Who never speaks and obeys instantly. It is, in my father's world, a status symbol.” Rafael sipped his beer. “He makes sometimes fifty thousand US dollars for each well-trained slave, sometimes seventy-five. But training slaves is his passion, his hobby. Coca is his livelihood.” 

“He exports cocaine?” 

“Yes. Why do you think he funds your expedition? He will use your shipments to transport the drugs.” 

Blair chewed his lower lip. “Does he – abuse the slaves?” 

“You have seen the slave. Is he not abused just by being made to serve?”

“I meant sexually.” 

Rafael shrugged. “My father does not touch the male slaves in the manner in which you speak. And he does not train females at all.” The boy sipped the last of his warm beer. “He is an awful man, Professor. I want him dead, but I would be happy to see him destroyed.” He gave a satisfied smile. “I am leaving for the USA in a few weeks. I have applied for a visa to the university in New England. I will never return to this place,” he added scornfully, the distaste for this place clear. “Before I go, I must see him destroyed. Honor demands it. What will you do now?”

Blair's fingers rested against his lips. “I have to do some research. You go home and forget you ever talked to me. And don't forget the dog tags.” 

Rafael handed over the small bundle. “Gracias. I knew you would be the one. I have waited many years for one such as you to help me. I have read all of your papers and when I was told that you were heading the excavation, I knew my time had arrived.” Rafael looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, “Your works tell about the one who guides the Sentinel. Perhaps that is your destiny. Now I must go.” 

“Yeah. Right,” Blair said absentmindedly, his brain already kicking into gear while he contemplated his first step. “Thanks.” Rising from his seat, he tossed another couple of singles on the table. As he left the bar, he suspiciously glanced around but saw no one who seemed interested in him. 

He didn't notice the man sitting at the dark corner table. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Blair dialed the number from memory and was pleased when it was answered on the second ring. 

“Kelso.” 

“Jack?” 

“Blair! How are you? Aren't you in Peru?”

“Yeah.”

“You don't sound very happy. What's up?”

“I need your help.” 

“Of course. Anything. You know that.” 

'Thanks, Jack. You've been a good friend.” 

“So, tell me.” 

“I need you to search for some information about a mission to Peru that involved eight GIs who were reported MIA.” 

“Really? I remember that story from my CIA days. That mission was Covert Ops. How do you know about it?” 

“I've come across eight military dog tags. I'm trying to authenticate them.” 

“Sure. Okay. It was a classified mission, but it was routine. I can find that info in just a few minutes. I have access, you know.” 

“Yeah, Jack. I know.” Blair waited a few moments. “Do we need a secure line?” he asked nervously, uneasy for some reason. 

“Blair, how long have you known me? I scramble every phone call, even those from my mother telling me she's planted petunias in the back garden. You don't work for US Intel for twenty years and not do simple precautionary procedures automatically.” 

Blair laughed. “You're a true professional.” 

“Okay. Got it. I love computers. Ready?” 

Blair pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, along with a folded piece of paper. “Shoot.” 

“I'll summarize. No sense wasting your minutes with the useless government mumbo-jumbo. Captain James Ellison and seven of his men from Seventh Troop were sent on an anti-insurgent operation in the La Montaña region of Peru in '88. On March 14, en route to the landing site, the Huey went out of radar contact, and was presumed lost.” 

“Nobody went in to look for them?”  
“Nope. Says here that the government was advised that all rebel activity had ceased in that area. The chopper crew and the team members -- eight men in all -- were reported as MIA. They were presumed dead. It was a Special Forces operation, and they didn't follow up.”  
“That must have made quite a bit of news. Eight men gone in a covert op mission, and no follows up?”

“You're being idealistic, Blair. Our government conducts covert ops operations world wide on a daily basis. When you sign on, you're told you're on your own. Anyway, I have a list of the names. Give me yours, and we'll compare them.” 

Blair read off the names from the dog tags and waited impatiently for a long minute before Jack relayed his own information. 

“Okay. The names all check out. So you found proof that they were all killed?” 

“Not quite. One of them survived. James Ellison.” 

“Wow. It's been almost fifteen years. Have you talked to him?” 

“It's not that simple. The man's been brainwashed. That's the only way to describe it. The guy who's funding my expedition says Ellison is his – property, his slave. Jack, you should see him. He acts like he is an empty shell. He obeys this guy's every whim. The other night at dinner...” Blair paused, the scene sickeningly played out in his head. 

“Blair?” 

“Medina was showing off for my benefit. He cut the guy with a knife. The guy never flinched. He kneels at the man's feet, for God Sake!” 

“Wait a sec. Medina? Vidal Medina?” 

“Yeah, you know him?”

“My best advice is for you to get out now. He's bad news. Both us and the Peruvian government have been trying to get the guy for years, but nobody has ever come back alive that they've sent in undercover. He's into drug smuggling, white slavery, whatever makes him money.” 

Blair ran a hand down his face. “Oh, God.” 

“What?” 

“Ellison... Jack, he's a Sentinel. That's why nobody gets close, why undercover agents are discovered. He knows, he always knows!” 

“Blair, as your friend, I'm advising you to get on the next plane to Cascade. Leave everything. Grab your passport, your Visa card and get the hell out of there.” 

“I can't. I have to get him out. He's an American. He is not a damned slave! Besides, I know he's a natural protector. He needs to be rescued!” 

“Blair, please! I've read your Sentinel research. You know if he's turned rogue, he's deadly. He'll kill you!” 

“No. No way, Jack. Listen,” Blair glanced around before he continued, “I'm staying until I get Ellison away from this monster. Then we'll go to the American embassy. I need you to fax the info about Ellison to them so that they know who he is when we get there.” 

“You sound really sure that Ellison will go with you. You said he's been brainwashed. Your life could be in danger. You know that, don't you?”

“I'll be okay. Thanks, Jack. Now before I run out of minutes, give me anything personal about Ellison you can find in a quick search.” Pen again in hand, Blair scribbled down the key highlights that Jack relayed. A few minutes later, Blair pocketed his pen. “Thanks, man. This is very helpful. I only have three minutes left on the phone card, so I have to run. Thanks again. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. We'll have dinner when I get back. Bye.” 

Blair hung up and turning, leaned against the side of the phone booth. He shoved the dog tags and paper into his backpack and zipped it up. With a small pat to the worn leather, he considered his options. He couldn't walk up to the Sentinel and speak to him. He understood how much the man had been forced to endure. Walking toward the jeep he had parked in front of the cantina earlier, he mulled scenarios over in his mind. Going over the conversation he had with Rafael, he stopped abruptly. 

Cursed? Hadn't Rafael said the Sentinel had been cursed? Blair berated himself for his failure to question Rafael about how this curse had been cast, who had done it, and how to remove... Blair laughed to himself. Here he was, a creature of the twenty-first century and he was believing that somebody could be cursed. To be sure, he had seen some strange things in his world travels, but did he believe in the power of a curse? With a sad sigh, he remembered lectures from his college psychology classes. He knew that it was more that the person being cursed truly believed that the curse was effective. Then he would have to agree that a curse could have dire consequences. The mind was capable of believing anything under the right circumstances, especially if one were being tortured. 

Glancing at his watch, all thoughts of curses flew out the window when he realized that he had been gone from the excavation site for almost four hours. Diego would be wondering where he was, and more than likely sending out a search party, thinking he had gotten lost in the jungle. He quickened his steps and in less than ten minutes, was on the road back to camp. 

\---------------------------------------------

Unsure how to approach the Sentinel, Blair wasted two days forming and dismissing various plans. He had to be careful. He had to be smart. He had to be successful. If Medina found out, he could kill the Sentinel just to prove that he could. Or he could kill Blair, and would more than likely enjoy it. 

Working in a quiet section of the dig site, he was laying out a grid pattern on a section of earth he wanted to be sifted. Carefully, he ran several lines of string in a precise manner to indicate sections that needed to be worked. After making notations on the pad of paper that he had retrieved from his pack, he set the pad and pen down on a large stone and grabbed a bottle of water. Uncapping the lid, he chugged half the bottle before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, recapped the bottle and tossed it onto the the top of his pack. 

Blair stood for several minutes perusing the lines he had staked out. Scratching a mosquito bite, he looked around for a moment before walking a few yards into the jungle. When he found a likely looking tree, he unzipped his pants and relieved himself with a satisfied sigh. Finished, he zipped up his pants and started back toward his work site. Without warning, Blair was grabbed from behind. In one quick motion, his head was twisted painfully to the side and an arm like a band of steel clamped around his throat. He tried to scream, but the air in his lungs was almost cut off. That's when he knew that his neck would be snapped quickly and he would be dead in mere seconds. 

Flailing his hands, he tried to pull on the arm wrapped around his throat. Already feeling lightheaded, he croaked out the only thing he could think of in his panic. “Ellison!” The hands around his neck did not release their grasp, but they didn't get any tighter either. Hoping that his attacker had been distracted for the moment, Blair struggled to take in a breath. Spots danced in front of his eyes and his legs started to collapse. 

“Ellison!” he whispered again. “Ellison. James Ellison” The hold loosened slightly, and he gulped in the much needed air, his chest heaving from panic and lack of oxygen. “Captain James Ellison,” he blurted out, reaching into his pocket. He yanked out the dog tags and held them aloft. The metal plates swirled at the ends of the chain, catching the diffused sunlight that filtered through the trees and casting small pinpoints of white light that danced on the surface of the surrounding vegetation. 

As quickly as the attack began, it was over. Blair was thrown to the ground. He hit hard, face down, and lay gasping for air. After many long minutes, he slowly rolled over and rubbed his bruised throat. Even though his instincts told him he was alone, he couldn't help himself as he frantically searched the brush. Rising carefully, Blair brushed off his clothes and looked around. The dog tags were gone. 

\---------------------------------------------

The Sentinel had taken the dog tags. 

Blair had to believe that the man understood the name that he had blurted out. He had to believe that Ellison would remember the man he had been before his capture. He hoped that because of the dog tags, Ellison's curiosity would be overwhelming, and he would try to understand what had happened to him. 

Blair knew that Ellison's hearing was probably his greatest asset. Thinking about his problem, he was still unsure about how to approach the Sentinel. He had to be very careful that Medina didn't find out he'd discovered Ellison's true identity. After considering several options, he decided to use a Sentinel's best asset: his hearing, and he decided to use his own best asset: his voice. 

Blair made sure that he worked alone, away from the main group for a portion of each day for the next month. That's when he talked aloud to the Sentinel. He had no way of knowing if the man was listening, but it was thing he could think of for the present. As he worked, Blair told many stories. He told Ellison about his family: his mother, Grace; his father, William; his brother, Steven, and the children Steven had with his wife, Mary Beth. Twins, a boy and a girl. James and Eloise. 

Blair talked about his own life. He started from his earliest memories, recalling tales from school, new adventures, things he liked, things he had experienced, all the while hoping that his own reminiscing would trigger something in the Sentinel's mind, and that he would start to remember who he was. Blair also asked a thousand questions; maybe a couple of thousand, he realized. He covered everything from the kind of apples the man liked (red or green, Macintosh or Gala) to what he thought of the price of Xerox stock on the New York Stock Exchange, and everything in between. Something had to jog the man's memory. Ellison had to remember! 

Blair reminded the Sentinel he was not forgotten. That his family loved him. That his government admired his service to his country. That he had searched for a Sentinel all of his life, and that he wanted to help this particular Sentinel become a free man. He talked and hoped that Ellison was listening. 

\-------------------------------

It was a muggy day when Blair dropped his trowel and rose, stretching his back. He took a sip of water from his bottle before dumping some into his hand and splashing it on his face. He used the bandanna he had tied around his forehead to wipe his face; then looked up at the midday sun, wondering if it was siesta time yet. 

“With whom were you speaking?” 

Blair started. He spun on his heels. “Oh, hi, Diego. Talking? Nobody.” He shrugged. “Just making some notes out loud.” 

“Really? That is very strange. Do you often make notes about stealing a microscope from a store when you were fourteen?” Diego smiled and lifted a hand. “It is an unusual thing to record in a field journal.” 

Blair laughed. “So you caught me. I'm doing a mental rough draft of my memoirs to help pass the time. I guess I didn't realize I was talking out loud.” 

“Sometimes, Blair, you are a very unusual man.” Diego shrugged. “Come back to camp. There is food, and it is too hot to work. A few hours rest before we resume our afternoon work. Sí?” 

“Great idea. Thanks. I'll be there in a sec.” Blair gave Diego a smile. He was happy that Diego left without further inquiries. He huffed out a relieved breath and said a prayer of thanks that he hadn't been talking out loud about Ellison's life when Diego caught him blabbering. He resolved to be more careful in the future. 

\---------------------------------------------

Two days later, Blair looked up to see Diego standing in the doorway to his hut. 

“Blair?”

“Yeah. Come on in.” 

“Thank you. May I speak with you?” 

Blair waved a hand. “Sure. Sit. Relax.” 

Diego smiled and sat down at the small table that served as Blair's desk. Blair looked up after making a final note. Diego seemed nervous. 

“What's wrong?”

“I have a favor to ask. It is a very huge favor. But I have no choice. It is very important.” 

When Diego paused and wrung his hands, Blair raised an eyebrow. “What could be so bad that you'd be this nervous about asking?” Diego again hesitated. Blair put a hand on his friend's arm and said, “Just spit it out. I won't bite.” 

Diego gave him a wan smile. “Okay. I know I am a coward, but it is too important to our work not to ask.” When Blair nodded his go-ahead, Diego spoke quickly. “Señor Medina wishes you to come to his hacienda in order to accept a donation of twenty thousand dollars for a new truck for the Peruvian Heritage Foundation. You know the old one is worn, and last week the transmission failed yet again. There are only two gears left.” 

While Diego spoke, Blair rose and with his hands on his hips, he glared down at his companion. “I told you I would never set foot in that house again, and I meant it,” he said tensely. 

“I know this, Blair. But these are extenuating circumstances! We need the truck for supplies. Besides, if one of the workers falls ill or is injured, it will take hours if not days to get him to the hospital in the city! This way-” 

“Stop! I can't! I simply can't sit down at a table with that man-” 

Diego held up a hand. “You will not have to share a meal. I have explained this to him, and he has agreed. But his pride will not allow him to give me the money without your presence! All I ask is that you accompany me tomorrow. We will knock on the door. We will go into his study. He will give us the money. We will thank him, and leave. I swear it will not take more than ten minutes. I swear it!” 

“Damn you, Diego. You're backing me into a corner again. I'm tempted to ask the foundation to hire a replacement for me. I don't like this!” Blair said. “Not one bit!” 

“You will do it?” Diego asked softly. 

“Ten minutes. And I don't want to see any slaves or servants or anybody else but Medina. You fix it, or I'm walking out on that animal. Got it?” Blair pounded a fist on the desk. “I'm very serious. This is the last time, or I'm out of here permanently.” 

“Yes! Thank you so much!” Diego rose and took Blair's hand between his. He bowed his head. “You are a kind soul. Thank you.” 

“Get out.” 

Turning, Diego scuttled to the door. Blair called, “Diego?” When the man looked back, he sighed and said, “Sorry I yelled. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just – upset.” 

“It is nothing,” Diego answered, his smile wide. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

\--------------------------------------------

The jeep banged into yet another rut on the dirt road. Blair held onto the roll bar and grimaced. 

“I have a lot of work to do! I can't take long,” Blair shouted over the whine of the engine. 

“Yes, I know. I, too, have much to do.”

As they pulled into the gates of the large compound, the road smoothed out. Blair released his hold of the roll bar and tried to relax. He remained silent while Diego maneuvered the jeep up the long, graveled driveway, around the large circle in the center where a huge marble fountain bubbled away, and stopped in front of the main doors. The front door opened and Medina himself exited, standing on the wide, flagstone porch. 

“Buenos días,” Medina called, watching with bright, dark eyes while his guests climbed the steps to stand in front of him. 

“Good day,” Blair ground out, unable to hide his distaste. 

Medina smiled. “Ramos.” 

“Señor Medina.” 

“Come in. Come in.” Medina held the door for his guests. After they had entered the foyer, he led the way to the library. 

Blair glanced around, but the rooms were deserted. He breathed a small sigh of relief. On one hand, he wanted to see Ellison again to be sure the man was all right and to see if there was some glimmer of recognition in his eyes. But he was not sure that he could take the disappointment if the man's face was still a blank mask and his meager efforts so far had been useless. Willing to let fate decide, he followed his host. 

“Sit, please,” Medina said, waving toward the fine leather chairs sitting in front of his large desk. 

Blair sat in one chair and Diego, the other. 

“Please, a glass of wine?”

Blair looked directly at Medina. “No.” 

“But I insist.” 

“And I am refusing,” Blair added coolly. 

Unperturbed, Medina smiled and sat down. “Here is the money for the truck. Twenty thousand in cash. There is a small place in town that will sell you a new, heavy-duty four-wheel drive for that price. I will arrange it.” He passed the envelope across the desk toward Blair, who took the thick packet and passed it to Diego. He held it almost reverently. 

“Thank you, Señor,” Diego said. “You are most generous.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Blair said sarcastically. “Diego, are we through here?” 

Medina rose and removed the stopper from a decanter on the desk next to his elbow. “We must have one drink to our successful transaction. I insist.” He poured three glasses. 

“Blair, please,” Diego said softly. 

“Yeah, right. Okay.” Blair rose and took the glass from Medina's hand, being careful not to touch the fingers wrapped around the glass. He waited until Diego had received his glass and Medina raised his own glass toward Blair. 

“To a long and fruitful relationship.” 

Blair almost snorted. Instead, he shook his head and tossed back the small portion of alcohol that was in his glass. “There. Satisfied?” Turning, he started to leave the room with Diego at his heels. 

Blair had taken only a few steps when he suddenly felt lightheaded. The room started to spin and tilted at a crazy angle. He turned and stumbled, and his eyes met Diego's. As he sank to the floor, he heard Diego say, “Sorry, Blair, but I needed the money.” Then everything went black. 

\--------------------------------------------

Blair woke groggily. His head ached and he felt tired and ill. He tried to rub his eyes but his hands refused to cooperate. Then he tried to roll out of bed, but his entire body ignored his commands. Moaning softly, he struggled to open his eyes. The sharp stinging slap on his bare upper arm made his eyes fly open. 

“It is not time to sleep. It is time to work,” said the familiar voice. 

“Screw you,” Blair blurted out, recognizing Medina's voice instantly. 

His reward for his impertinence was a stinging blow across his shoulder blades. Crying out, Blair jerked and recognition finally dawned. His brain engaged and he realized what was happening. He was unable to move because he was tethered firmly against a wall. Upright, his arms, legs and waist were clamped down. In his line of vision, he could see the strap holding his arm; it was wide, black leather with a large metal buckle. He could not turn his head, nor look down because another strap around his neck held him firmly against the cement blocks. 

“Leave me alone! Let me out of here, you asshole!” Blair shouted. 

“You are here to be trained.” 

“Fuck you!” 

Instantly, the switch made a swooshing sound, connecting with the tender skin between Blair's shoulders. He cried out in pain. 

“You are my property. You will obey.” 

“Never,” Blair said from between clenched teeth, determined not to cry out again. He hated giving this monster the satisfaction of seeing him make a sound. 

The swoosh came again, as did the blow. This time two more followed until Blair couldn't help himself; he sobbed quietly against the cement. 

“Stopstopppp,” he begged. 

Another blow, then another. This time, when the blows stopped, the tears still flowed, but he said nothing. 

A hand touched his head, caressing. “See? It is possible for you to learn.” 

“Get away from me!” Blair hissed, anger mixed with fright tingeing his words. 

Another sharp blow. This time, with his skin becoming inflamed and tender, the sting was even more painful. Blair cried out in pain. Another blow. Then another. Finally, the beating stopped. 

Blair panted harshly, his nose full of mucous, unable to breathe. He tried to swallow and started choking; his chest heaving for air. The neck band was released; his head jerked to the side by the hair. A cloth wiped his face and his head was held while his stomach heaved. After he wretched the contents into the cloth, he was able to finally take in several shallow breaths and slowly began to recover. When he was breathing almost normally, the neck band was immediately reconnected. 

“I will not give you the satisfaction of dying on me. You are too valuable a commodity, mi perro bonito. I own you.” 

“Nooooo,” he begged, unable to stop himself. “Please, please... Leave me alone! Why are you doing this?” 

“Because I can,” was the reply to Blair's inquiry. “This first training session is for information only. You may be beaten or you may be treated well. It is your choice. However, in order for you to make an informed decision, you must taste what options are at your disposal. I am a fair man.” 

The next two blows were unbearable. They landed on the same areas previously struck, and Blair didn't think anything could be this painful. All thoughts of being brave dissolved, and he cried out again and again, wishing he would pass out. 

Medina petted Blair's hair and rubbed his cheek with the backs of his fingers. He ignored Blair's efforts to pull away from the touch. “I have only just begun. I will now tell you the rules. You will obey instantly. Your cries will go unanswered. You are my property. Whether you live or die depends on me. Do you understand?” 

Blair's eyes watered constantly and his breath came in harsh gasps. “Leave me alone!” he blurted out between pants. 

The blow came quickly, followed by two more. Sobbing harshly against the wall, he fiercely bit his lip. Perhaps his silence would stop the beating. 

The hated voice spoke directly into his ear. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please... Yes...” 

“Good! Very good.” 

A hand caressed his head and gently touched his cheek. The fingers lightly skimmed the warm skin and the voice praised him for listening. For a fleeting moment, Blair felt ridiculously happy at the kind words while he prayed that there would be no more blows. 

“You will be pleased to know that not one stroke broke the skin. I am very good at training. The trick is to use a wide, flat instrument, rather than a thick, round one. My clients do not wish to have a scarred slave. It is most embarrassing in the presence of guests to have one's property damaged. Not to mention looking unsightly. I have learned through much trial and error, and you will be one of the many fortunate slaves to benefit from my training.” 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the throbbing in his back. His breathing slowed with only occasional hiccups. He felt lightheaded and dizzy, and his body felt heavy. He sagged in the restraints, and his eyes closed. 

“Very good. You may now rest.” 

\--------------------------------------------

The next time Medina approached Blair, his eyes instantly flew open when the man slapped his arm. With a small moan, he realized that he was still tethered to the wall, and that his entire body ached. 

“Good,” Medina said softly. “It is good that you woke quickly. For that, you will be rewarded.” The neck band was removed and Medina's cupped hand was placed near Blair's mouth. Water dripped from between his fingers. “Drink,” he ordered. 

Blair lowered his head and lapped the wetness. Again, Medina filled his hand and again, Blair drank. 

“Good, good. All food and water will come from my hand. I hold your life in my hands. You will remember that. Do you understand?” 

Blair's eyes dropped and he whispered, “Yes.” 

“Good!” Medina flicked the switch against the skin of Blair's back, almost unconsciously. Tiny little pats that sent shards of fire up and down Blair's spine. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and held his breath. The little bit of water that he had taken from Medina's hand was inadequate to replenish his body, so his eyes did not tear. He whimpered in pain, but did not speak. He didn't have the energy to ask for more water, not with the pain shooting through his every nerve. Besides, asking for anything would more than likely mean more pain. 

Finally, the small flicks became too much and he broke down again. “Noooooo,” Blair begged, his muscles twitching in agony. “Pleasepleasepleaseeee...stoppp.” 

“You have lived a soft life. You will become much tougher before I am finished with your training.” 

When Medina fell silent, but moved about behind Blair, he strained to hear what the man was doing. He could hear Medina moving; he could hear metallic sounds, small clinks and clangs. He heard something whoosh, much like a gas burner when it is lit. Concentrating, he smelled something burning. The scent was unpleasant, but the sounds were terrifying. His body started to shake. 

His fear quickly escalated the longer the silence reigned, finally turning into abject terror. Blair trembled harder. “Please let me go. Please let me go. Pleasepleaseplease let me go.” 

Straining to decipher the sounds, Blair also heard the man's quiet words. 

“My shaman is very wise,” Medina said softly, almost to himself. “The dog that is not a dog.” Medina laughed deeply. “I first thought the old man had become loco, but he kept insisting that mi perro bonito's animal spirit was the “dog that is not a dog”. It is a good thing I am such an intelligent master.” 

“Please stop this! I... I won't say anything. Just let me go. Please,” Blair pleaded. “You don't have to do this!” 

Speaking louder, Medina said, “I gave the man an extra ten American dollars for his insight. He had never seen the wolf like that who is your animal spirit except in his dreams, yet with his gifts, he knew. I am a generous man.” 

Blair shivered in spite of the humid room. “What are you doing? Please, Señor... I have money...” 

Blair didn't hear Medina move, but when Medina's hot breath touched his ear, he shook even harder. 

Medina spoke softly. “It is not your money that I wish, it is your loyalty.” 

The pain was unbearable. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the room. Blair screamed. 

\---------------------------------------------

When Blair woke, he felt feverish, but at least he wasn't tied down any longer. He tried to move, but his limbs were useless. He had no idea how long he had been strapped to the wall, but any movement sent hot flashes of pain through his body. His side burned like fire and when he tried to look at the site of the injury, his neck muscles painfully tensed. With a sob, he managed to roll to his back, but slowly rolled to his side when his abused back twitched with pain. Curling into a fetal position, he wrapped his hands around his knees, and tried to catch his breath. He felt sick; he was thirsty; his body was dirty, and his hair matted with sweat which had long-since dried. 

After many minutes, Blair tried to move again. He managed to sit up and he leaned back against the wall. The coolness of the wall felt good against his burning skin for a moment before the pressure became unbearable. Leaning forward a bit, he touched a hand to his forehead. He knew he was definitely running a fever. His head ached and his throat burned. 

Looking around, he assessed his situation. The area in which he was imprisoned was very small, no more than a closet. The floor and walls were made from cement blocks. Only the door was wood, and it was thick and heavy with black metal bands stretching across it. There was no knob with which to open it. Otherwise, the closet held only Blair and an empty bucket in one corner. Apparently, slaves are supposed to be housebroken, he thought bitterly. He had no desire to use the bucket. The training sessions, and the lack of water had dehydrated him to the point where he had no need to urinate. Realizing this made him wonder how long he had been locked up. 

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes. He was so tired! Maybe he should try to sleep, but when he moved in an attempt to lie down, the pain in his back flared again. Rather than endure more of the pain, he leaned his shoulder into the corner and closed his eyes. 

\---------------------------------

Blair woke with a start when the heavy wooden door had been pushed open and it thudded against the wall. He moaned softly, realizing that his captor stood in the doorway looking down at him. 

“Come,” Medina said, his word accompanied by a small hand gesture. 

When Blair failed to respond, Medina raised his hand. That is when Blair saw the instrument of his torture. It was a thin rattan-like rod, about three inches wide and two feet long. It made the familiar swooshing sound when Medina slapped it lightly against his own pant leg before taking a step into the room. 

Blair threw up his arm as protection. “Please...” 

“Come,” Medina repeated, gesturing again, but this time his other hand moved quickly. The switch landed on Blair's upper arm; a harsh, stinging blow. 

Blair cried out, and defiantly grabbed the rod. He yanked with what little strength he had left and held on. He heard his tormentor shout out in irritation; then his hair was grabbed and he was dragged several feet before he was pushed face down onto the floor. Three blows slammed into Blair's swollen back. He screamed with each blow and when they finally stopped, he lay splayed out on the ground, moaning. 

“You will not goad me into damaging my property!” Medina shouted fiercely, panting harshly. “You will be trained and you will obey!” 

When his wrists were grabbed, Blair cried out yet again as his back was painfully twisted. He was flipped onto his back and dragged across the stone floor. Unbearable pain shot through his body and he grayed out yet again, thankful for any respite from Medina's torture. 

\----------------------------------------------

When Blair Sandburg became fully conscious again, he sobbed soundlessly when he realized that he was not yet dead, but strapped once again to the wall, this time facing the center of the room. He slowly lifted his head and glanced around. Medina was at a work table where he had a Bunsen burner turned on and he was holding a long metal rod in his hand. 

Blair opened his mouth to once again protest, but when he did, no sound emerged. He swallowed and tried again. He could open his mouth but could not speak. Struggling futilely against the bonds, his mouth opened and closed again and again. 

Medina looked in Blair's direction, and smiled. “You must realize that I have the power. You are now silenced.” 

Dizzy from fever, sick from pain, Blair found the strength to shake his head. He opened his mouth yet again to plead for his release, but no sound emerged. 

Medina shrugged. “It is no matter. You have been cursed. You now wear the collar.” Medina walked over to Blair and demonstrated the truth of his words by touching Blair's neck. The soft leather pressed against his skin. When Medina slipped a finger under the collar and tugged, he said with satisfaction, “See? You are under my power. I control all that you think, see and do. 

At Blair's wide, unbelieving eyes, Medina laughed. “This is the shaman's collar, identical to the one that my gato wears. It is impressed with the sign of your animal spirit. It has been cursed by the shaman, and any who wears it is silenced. You are now mi perro bonito; my little dog. Is it not typically American of me? I now own a cat and a dog!” Medina laughed heartily before he shrugged at Blair's unbelieving scowl. Waving a hand in the air, he invited, “Speak if you can.” 

Blair could feel the thin strip of leather around his throat. He had seen the impressions of the jaguar on the Sentinel's collar. He had also seen where the collar had been permanently fastened about Ellison's neck so that it could not be removed unless it were cut free. Eyes wide, he struggled to speak. He knew how to talk, damn it! But not a single sound escaped from his lips. His eyes grew even wider and he panicked. His efforts to buck and twist against the restraints were met with a smile from his captor; a smile much like an indulgent parent gives to the child that has just been warned not to touch the fire, and does so against good advice. 

“You are my slave. I own you, bought and paid for in full.” 

Blair shook his head. 

“It is no matter. Now you will be marked for the final time. Once this mark is placed on your body, your training will proceed in earnest. You are mine to do with as I so desire. I may let you live. I may let you die. The choice is mine.” 

Medina smiled again and stroked the side of Blair's head. “Such a pretty slave. If I sell you, I guarantee I will make seventy-five thousand dollars. Considering you cost me the twenty I paid Diego, you will make me a handsome profit.” Medina turned away, then hesitated. He turned back. “Oh, and my son? You and he thought you were very clever. But you both failed. He is securely locked up, and I will deal with him later. Did you think I would let you interfere? Did you honestly think that my gato would turn against me? He is loyal and devoted to me.” Medina smiled again. “For a brief moment, I thought you almost too stupid to be allowed to live. However, I have a fondness for training slaves, so I have decided to indulge myself.” 

Blair's eyes were wide and tear filled. No matter how hard he tried, he could not speak. He couldn't make a sound. He couldn't beg for his life, nor could he beg to be put out of his misery. Sobbing silently, his head fell forward in surrender. 

Medina petted the matted hair. “Once you are trained, you may walk about freely. You may bathe. You may eat. Does this not sound inviting?” Medina chuckled. “Look! Here is my gato to watch!” 

My gato? Blair's brain finally registered Medina's words. His head jerked up and he saw Ellison standing in the doorway. Medina smiled and gestured. Ellison immediately dropped to his knees beside his master, and bent his head. Medina's hand petted the tawny hair before lightly touching the back of the man's neck. After a few caresses, Ellison's head rose, his eyes looked forward, he sat back on his thighs, and then crossed his arms. 

Medina smiled. Spreading his arms wide, he said, “See? My gato is a wonder, is he not? He is beautiful and strong.” 

Blair stared at Ellison, silently begging the man to look at him. He pleaded for help; begged for release from this prison. Ellison never moved. Blair sobbed silently, and pleaded wordlessly again and again while Medina prepared. 

Finally turning to Blair with the hot brand in his hand, he smiled as he approached him. “I will mark you as I marked my gato. Did you foolishly think you could influence my property? As you can see, he belongs to me, as do you.” 

Blair's eyes widened and he futilely struggled. He now knew what had caused the pain in his side; he had been branded. Knowing where else Medina had also branded the Sentinel, Blair soundlessly screamed and jerked in his bonds. Helplessly, he watched Medina gesture to Ellison, who rose and quickly moved to stand slightly behind and to the side of his master. Blair tried to catch his eye; tried to plead for help. While Ellison had a clear view of what Medina was going to do to Blair, Blair saw that his face remained passive. 

Medina approached Blair with the red-hot brand in one hand and a pair of small pliers in the other. When he grasped the head of Blair's penis in the pliers, Blair vainly tried to jerk away. The pinch brought tears to Blair's eyes as the skin was stretched taut and the burning metal moved closer. 

Blair closed his eyes, his entire body tense. Just the pinch of the pliers was enough to bringing more tears to his eyes. He couldn't imagine what the branding would bring. He gasped silently. He could now feel the heat from the brand. He braced himself for the indescribable pain, and held his breath. 

“You are mine,” Medina said softly. 

Blair waited... and waited... Nothing happened. With a silent moan, he trembled from head to toe. Then the pressure on his penis disappeared and he heard a small clank. Blair's eyes flew open. Medina stood before him, his head clamped in Ellison's strong arms. When Blair's eyes searched Ellison's face, Ellison looked directly at Blair, and with the twist of one arm and the push of his hand against the side of Medina's head, he snapped Medina's neck. The sickening crunch made Blair wince, and in spite of himself, he was glad to see the man die. He felt absolutely no remorse seeing Medina killed even though he had never seen anybody die before. 

Ellison opened his arms and let Medina's body fall. The smell of burning flesh permeated the room when Blair realized that Medina had fallen onto the hot brand that had been intended for him. The bile rose in Blair's throat and if he had had anything in his stomach, he would have been sick on the spot. 

Ellison moved forward. Blair felt a momentary stab of fear. Perhaps the man would kill him also. Instead, Ellison unbuckled the arm and leg restraints, and caught Blair as he fell. He sat the trembling man down on the floor and rose, searching on the work table for a few moments before he returned with a small knife. 

Blair flinched away from the blade, but Ellison held onto Blair's head, slipped the blade under the leather collar and sliced away the hateful thing. 

Blair gasped, his breath coming in short pants. His hands flew to his throat. 

“Oh, God,” he whispered. “Thank you. Thank you.” 

Ellison stared into Blair's face, but said nothing. Blair reached for the knife, which Ellison handed over instantly. Blair motioned for the man to move closer while he said, “Let's get that piece of shit off your neck.” He likewise sliced through the leather collar and threw it across the room. 

Ellison sat back on his haunches and rubbed his neck. 

Blair looked into his face, studying the blue eyes and stern face. “You are James Ellison.” 

Ellison again met Blair's gaze. His hand reached under the opening of his wrap and brought out a very small pouch. Opening the mouth, he tipped the contents out into his hand. The dog tags lay nestled in a silver pile on Ellison's palm. 

When their eyes met again, Blair nodded. Ellison took the chain in both hands and held the dog tags aloft before slipping them over his head. The metal tags clinked softly as they bumped against the broad chest. Then Ellison rose and waited. Blair slowly rose and almost made his feet when the pain in his back flared anew. He moaned and started to sink to the floor. The last thing he remembered was being flung over Ellison's shoulder like a sack of grain. 

\---------------------------------------------

No one stopped the slave and his burden on their way out of the hacienda. Several of Medina's henchmen saw the strange happenings. They watched, dumbfounded, as the pair disappeared into the jungle. Unsure of what to do, they raced to find their boss. Upon seeing the dead body, word spread quickly through the compound. The servants loaded their dead master's vehicles with whatever of value they could find and raced off. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Blair felt awful. He was burning hot and very thirsty. He valiantly fought against his return to consciousness, terrified that he would once again wake in restraints. He moaned softly, unable to move. That is when he knew he was still tethered to the cement wall. That is when he knew he would hear the hated voice once again. You belong to me. 

“Nonononononono”, Blair whispered. “Pleasseeeee...” He waited, eyed held tightly closed. Waited for more pain, but as he slowly regained full consciousness, he realized that he was not tied down at all, but very, very wet. 

“Wet?” Blair whispered, his eyes flying open. He glanced up and saw Ellison. The man was holding him against his chest and they were – Blair looked around in a river? “Where...?” Blair asked. “Where...?” Too tired to speak more, Blair sighed. The water, although warm, felt wonderful on his fevered body. His head ached. His back burned, but he knew he was safe. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

\------------------------------------------

Blair woke in the middle of the night. He shifted slightly and felt the swaying of a hammock. Relatively comfortable, he let out a grateful sigh. The netting under his skin had been padded with some sort of mossy plant material. It felt soft, and smelled nice and woodsy. Relaxing, he lay very still for a long while enjoying the feeling of being comfortable, and better yet, being free. 

After a while, he roused himself and tried to take in his surroundings. It was very dark, so dark that even with his eyes open, he could barely see the hand he held up in front of his face. Thirsty, he was determined to find water, but when he tried to climb out of the hammock, it swung from side to side, and threatened to dump him onto the floor. With a frustrated grunt, he collapsed back into the netting and allowed the hammock to slowly swing back to stillness. 

“Ellison?” Blair called. “Are you here?” Straining to hear the man's footsteps, Blair jumped and let out a small cry when a hand touched his head. “Who is it?” he shouted. 

The hand petted his head; then something touched his chest. Blair's hands reached out and he clasped the small earthen jug. Bringing it to his lips, he sniffed lightly; then he let the contents barely touch his lips. With a small, grateful cry, he drank. He finished the small amount of water quickly. 

“More? Please, I'm so thirsty.” 

The hand was back, patting his chest. 

“Please,” Blair whispered. 

The hand disappeared. Blair waited but when everything remained silent, he began to frantically search the darkness for Ellison. Terrified that he had been left alone, Blair started to rise. The hammock swayed. Then he heard a series of small sounds. Unable to decipher them, he stopped and listened. Someone was definitely in the hut, and not very far away. 

Heart thumping, Blair called, “Ellison? Is that you?” 

There was a small spark of light, then another. A tiny fire started to burn. In the shadows, Blair could now see the man hunkered down, feeding the growing blaze a few twigs until it caught. With care, Ellison added larger sticks until the fire was burning brightly. Without looking over at Blair, Ellison put a beaten metal pot next to the fire. Apparently finally satisfied with his work, he rose and brushed his hands together. Only then did he look toward Blair and waited.

“Hey, man. Thanks. It's good to see you.” Blair smiled before he grimaced at the dull throb that reminded him of his injuries. He was surprised that he wasn't in more pain, and with a finger, he touched the dried paste that covered the brand on his side. He lightly sniffed the tip of his finger. “Herbs of some sort. Thank you. It feels much better.” Blair nodded and then asked, “Could I have some water, please?” 

Ellison stood very still. The Sentinel's nostrils flared slightly and his head cocked to the side. That is when Blair realized the man was listening to the tone of his voice and taking notice of his scent. Blair attempted to sit up, which proved to be difficult. He was still feeling lightheaded and his back ached. He trembled and closed his eyes. 

Blair hadn't realized that Ellison had moved until something lightly touched his hair. He started; his eyes flew open. He hadn't heard Ellison make a sound, and here he was, right on top of him. 

“Sorry. You startled me. Man, you move like a jaguar, don't you? That asshole...” Blair's words trailed off when he remembered Medina. Looking up into Ellison's face, Blair held out a hand. “Help me, please?” 

Ellison stared at the hand for at least thirty seconds before he slowly raised his arm. When his hand touched Blair's, Blair shivered. 

“What was that?” Blair asked softly. “Oh, man. It was like some – electrical current. That was damned weird.” Blair chuckled. “Sorry. Sorry. I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I'm tired and thirsty, and I feel like shit.” 

Ellison cocked his head again and continued to stare directly into Blair's face. His finger reached out and touched Blair's lips before he touched his own. 

“What? Still can't talk? Geez, man, that sucks! Don't worry. We'll think of something. We'll get rid of that stupid curse. I just need some time to think about it. Now give me a hand.” 

When Ellison didn't bother taking Blair's hand, but quickly scooped him up from the hammock, Blair protested. “Put me down! I can walk!” 

Ellison's face was close to his and when he looked down at the man struggling in his arms, Blair swore he saw amusement in those icy blue eyes. Gently, Ellison lowered Blair to the ground beside the fire before he turned his attentions to the pot. He held his fingers a few inches above the liquid. Blair knew that the Sentinel's sensitive skin could tell the temperature of the contents without even touching them. 

“That is just so great! You're pretty good with those senses. It's a wonder that that asshole didn't train them right out of you. Goes to show that genes don't lie.” 

Jim ignored Blair's monologue and poured some of the thick liquid into a small bowl. With a cock of his head, he handed it, with both hands, to Blair. 

Blair took the bowl, carefully assessing Ellison's demeanor. Even now, he could tell that the man's “training” went deeply. He didn't hand the bowl over like one person to another, but as a slave to his master. His head was bent almost in supplication. 

“Thanks,” Blair whispered, not knowing exactly what to say. Ellison was taking care of him and he appreciated it more than he could say, but he felt uncomfortable that he had obviously taken on the role of the “master” without even being asked. Not sure what to do about this fact, and with his stomach rumbling, he decided that it was yet another thing that needed mulling over. He did the best thing he could at the present time; he drank the soup. 

“Mmmm. Good. What is it?” 

Not expecting an answer, he was shocked when Ellison pointed toward the ceiling. 

“A bird?”

Again, he was surprised when Ellison shook his head. Thrilled that they were finally communicating, Blair asked, “A snake?” 

Ellison shook his head again. 

“A monkey?” 

Nodding, Ellison looked pleased. He didn't smile, but Blair could see the light in his eyes change. 

“Cool. It's good. I don't normally eat monkey, but I don't see a drive through around, so I appreciate the meal. What else did you put in it? Some sort of grain.” 

The Sentinel tipped the contents of a jar into his hand, showing Blair the kernels of a brownish-green seed. Blair nodded and mused aloud, “Wonder what it's called? Tastes good.” When he finished the bowl of gruel, the Sentinel refilled the bowl and again, reverently passed it to Blair, who took it with another word of thanks and drank. 

With the warm food in his belly, Blair's exhaustion came back with a vengeance. His eyes drooped and he listed sideways. 

\-------------------------------------------

When Blair woke, he was feeling much better. His eyes opened and the first thing he saw was Ellison sitting next to the sleeping pallet. His clear blue eyes met Blair's and he cocked his head. To Blair, he looked like he was waiting. Blair considered what he could possibly be waiting for. Then he realized that more than likely since he seemed to like the sound of Blair's voice, that Ellison was waiting for him to wake up and speak. Smiling, Blair sat up. 

“Morning, Ellison. How long have I been asleep?” Ellison shrugged. “Right, no watch. You can't tell time without a watch. Now that's not necessarily true. One sunrise and one sunset is one day. Can I call you Jim? Ellison is just too formal. I'll bet your parents called you Jimmy.” Blair smiled when Ellison shrugged again. “Cool. Jim it is. Hey, man, it's kind of nice that you actually like listening to me talk. Most people think I talk way too much.” Blair laughed when he realized he was rambling. “Usually I do. Did you put me to bed?” Blair asked, seeing that he was resting on Ellison's own sleeping pallet. “You put more medicine on me too, didn't you? Thanks. It feels okay right now.” 

Ellison's – Jim's face lit up. Blair raised an eyebrow, wondering what he had said that made Jim look happier. He still hadn't smiled, but Blair could tell he was pleased. Thinking about what he had said, he laughed again. Watching Jim closely, that was when Blair saw Jim's eyes again brighten. So, it was when he laughed! Apparently, the sound was pleasing to the Sentinel. 

“So how are you feeling, Blair?” Blair asked himself aloud. “Not too bad, actually. I'm famished, though. Do we have anything else to eat? Maybe some fruit or something? Sure, hang on a minute. I'll get something for you.” Blair made eating motions before he laughed again. It was apparent that Ellison understood plain English, and more than likely Spanish and a few of the Peruvian dialects also, and here he was acting like the man was a Neanderthal. With a grin, he said, “Jim, man, I'm starving here.” 

Ellison rose and turned to leave before he stopped and looked back at Blair. He held up his hand, curling back the thumb and two fingers. Then he disappeared. 

“I've been asleep for two days? Wow. He must have watched over me the whole time. No wonder he looks tired. Maybe I can convince him to rest...” Blair looked up when Jim entered the hut. “You need to rest, Jim. You've been up for days and days.” 

Jim grunted and held out the contents of his hands to Blair. He proudly showed the mangoes and a large bunch of grapes. He hunkered down next to Blair, and with his hunting knife, Jim sliced a mango open and passed it over to Blair, who took it with a smile and ate enthusiastically. 

When he finished, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “That was wonderful,” Blair said softly. “Thank you. I've never had anything taste so good.” 

Ellison nodded, handing over a bunch of muscat grapes. Blair had seen a large vineyard on the road to the excavation site so they must not be too far from there, he mused, taking the bunch and eating slowly, savoring the taste. 

“Mmm. Good. These are great. I like to eat. What's your favorite thing?”

Ellison shrugged, and continued to eat his food. 

“You probably haven't had a cold beer in a long while.” 

Jim looked into Blair's face and nodded. 

“What's your favorite brand?” 

“Bud? Miller? Michelob? Coors?” 

When Jim's face brightened on the last name, Blair smiled. “Okay. Coors it is. We'll buy a case when we get back to the States.” Jim stopped eating and stared. “What? You don't want to go back home? Back to Washington?” 

Slowly, Jim nodded, fingering the dog tags that hung around his neck. 

“Me, too,” Blair said sadly. “I want to go home. Let's head out today.”

\------------------------------------------------- 

“How close are we to the nearest American embassy?” Blair asked. “And do you have anything I can wear? I cannot go into town wearing nothing but my birthday suit. It's embarrassing!” 

Jim snorted. He rummaged around the hut, coming up with a piece of cloth and a length of handmade rope. He held it out to Blair, who took it with a smile. 

“Thanks, man. Not exactly jeans and a t-shirt, but it's better than hanging in the breeze.” Blair laughed while he wrapped the cloth around his waist and tied the tie. He hissed when the rope dug into the brand on his side. 

Jim was immediately beside him. He didn't touch Blair, but he looked concerned. His nostrils flared and his head cocked. Blair could read his face easily. 

“Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. I just... This thing hurts!” Blair craned his neck to look down at the wolf's head impressed into his skin. The skin had scabbed over; he could see the crust where the herbal medicine had flaked off. Blair knew only a plastic surgeon would be able to remove the brand. He'd look into that the minute he returned home, he promised himself, hating the mark on his body. 

Jim held out the jar containing the medicine that Blair had used previously. Blair smiled and dipped his finger into the concoction before slathering a large glob onto the burned area. “Thanks. That feels a lot better. At least it doesn't look infected any more.” 

Jim nodded happily. 

“You ready?” 

Jim nodded again and stood back, waiting for Blair to take the lead. 

“Listen, man. You're not a – slave any more. You don't have to wait for me to go first, or to eat first, or anything like that. Do you understand?”

Jim nodded and yet, he still waited. 

“Old habits are hard to break?” When Jim waved a hand toward the jungle, understanding dawned. “Okay. Got it. It's easier to keep an eye out for wild animals and me, also, if I'm in front. That works for me.” 

Blair led the way with Jim occasionally pointing out when he needed to change directions. Jim would tap on his shoulder with a single finger and then indicate which way Blair needed to go. Blair walked on doggedly, never complaining. After a good deal of hiking, he stumbled and fell. Jim was at his side instantly. His eyes searched Blair's face for a moment before he put a hand on Blair's shoulder when he tried to stand. Shaking his head, Jim pushed down lightly. 

“You want to rest for a bit? Cool. I'm down with that. I'm a bit tired.” Blair shivered lightly in the humid air. Jim's eyes once again scanned him and he cocked his head. “You're listening to me, aren't you? Can you hear my heart beating?” Putting his own hand on his chest, he said, “It is kind of fast. Sorry. I'm tired and a little winded. I'll be okay after I rest a while.” 

Jim nodded and rose. He stood, hands on hips and glared. 

“What? I won't move. Honest!” 

Jim's eyes narrowed before he nodded yet again, turned and disappeared into the jungle. 

Blair lay down on a pile of ferns and pillowed his head on his arm. He was asleep in minutes. When he woke, Jim was sitting at his side, holding a jar of water. Blair smiled and sat up. Taking the jar, he drank thirstily. 

“Thanks, Jim.” 

Jim took the jar and brought it to his own lips. His tongue snaked out; he licked the spot where Blair's lips had touched the jar. A look of concentration crossed his face. Blair sat in utter surprise. Jim was tasting him? It was – strange and somewhat erotic. Blair's fingers went to his mouth where he pressed them against his lips. He briefly wondered what Jim tasted like. A quick picture crossed his mind. Jim's lips pressed against his. Blair groaned when his body actually started to take interest in the whole idea. Jim's head snapped up; his eyes locked onto Blair's. 

Blair was mortified. The man, a Sentinel for God's sake, must have smelled his brief moment of arousal. The thought immediately quelled any desire he might have felt and was quickly replaced with embarrassment. He blushed. 

Jim's eyes narrowed, making Blair sigh. First he smelled Blair's pheromones; now he sensed his embarrassment. Groaning, Blair covered his face with his hands, and muttered, “God, Jim. I'm sorry. Don't pay any attention to me, okay? Just pretend I'm not here.” 

Jim sat back on his haunches and studied Blair carefully. Blair shifted uneasily; being under a Sentinel's minute inspection was daunting, to say the least. The man should sense everything about him. He could hear his heart rate and respirations; he could smell his fear and his arousal; he could sense his happiness, his sadness, and his anger. 

After many long minutes, Jim finally rose and walked away. Blair sat and thought about what had happened. He was attracted to the Sentinel. He knew from his research that a Sentinel had a Guide to help him control his senses and keep him grounded. He had always known that the relationship was a permanent one; one Guide for one Sentinel. Reading between the lines of the ancient research, he presented his own conclusion in one of his research papers that the bond was physical also. His professor had given him a D, and had scribbled in red ink, Unprovable!. 

But what did that have to do with him? He felt protective toward the Sentinel. He had felt the need to help the man the second he first saw him, and he had been willing to risk his life to set him free. Did that make him Ellison's Guide? Did he even want the job? Blair's brow furrowed as he thought about this when his brain leaped to another subject. 

Jim had looked – unsettled when Blair was briefly aroused. He knew that somehow Medina had – hurt Jim so badly that he was now impotent; or at least, that's what Medina had said. How could he have even considered putting Jim in such an awkward position? He'd gone and made the Sentinel feel inadequate. Groaning in irritation at his blunder, he berated himself sternly for making the man feel uncomfortable. Why else would he have gone off into the jungle, leaving Blair alone to wallow in his embarrassment? God, but he was an idiot sometimes. With a sigh, Blair wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on them. He told himself that he would never do something so untoward again. He dozed lightly and waited for Jim's return. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Blair Sandburg shook hands with Skip Foster. “Thanks, Ambassador. You don't know how much Captain Ellison and I appreciate your help.” 

Foster smiled. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Sandburg. Captain Ellison is one of our own. I'm more than happy that his papers are now in order and that you and he are heading back to the States. Your experience was beyond belief, and I am very thankful you survived.” 

“Thank you, sir. Did you take care of ah, things?” 

“Rest assured, Mr. Sandburg, because of your information, the Peruvian government has taken appropriate steps. Your help was invaluable. Have a good trip tomorrow, Mr. Sandburg.” Foster then turned to Ellison and held out his hand. Jim took the hand lightly and allowed the man to shake. “Captain, I'm very sorry for the pain and suffering you've had to endure. Please accept my gratitude for your service to our country.” 

Jim nodded curtly. 

“Gentlemen, have a good night's sleep and a pleasant flight tomorrow.” 

“Good night, Ambassador,” Blair said, touching Jim's arm lightly. Jim followed Blair to their rooms on the third floor, a silent, stoic figure. 

Blair glanced sideways at Jim. The button-front shirt, light blue in color, accented the man's eyes. The jeans made his long body seem even more desirable. Blair looked away. Ever since they had made it to safety, Blair's mind and body continually betrayed him in spite of his many talks with his libido. 

Whenever he looked at Ellison, his throat went dry; his heart pounded, his pulse raced. Jim would look at him questioningly, but Blair ignored Jim's silent entreaties. What could he say? That he lusted after Jim's body? That he wanted to hold him and kiss the living daylights out of him? That he wanted to undress him slowly and lick every inch of his body before he... Blair groaned, making Jim stop. 

“What? It's nothing. Just a bit of a headache,” Blair blurted out. Jim raised an eyebrow and didn't look the least bit convinced. Blair shrugged. “I'm okay. Just tired.” 

Jim gazed at Blair for a long moment before he finally nodded. He put a hand on Blair's shoulder and pushed him toward their rooms. He waited until Blair had opened the door, then he led Blair to his bedroom, pulled off his shoes, and all but forced him onto the bed. Jim then stood next to the bed, arms crossed. Blair got the message. 

“Okay. I'll take a nap. But just a short one. All right?” 

Jim sat on the floor next to the bed and crossed his legs. Blair sighed. There was nothing he could do or say to convince the man not to sit up all night and keep vigil over him. He tried ordering Jim; he tried cajoling; then he resorted to begging, but all was for naught. Jim stood guard while Blair slept. Blair didn't know how the man lived on the two or three hours of sleep he allowed himself each day. He took several catnaps but only when the sun was high. He never slept at night. Blair wished Jim could explain why, but Blair's attempts to give the Sentinel a pen and paper were met with a blank expression. Rather than continue to argue (albeit one-sided) over the man's insistence that he must guard Blair whenever he slept, Blair finally gave up, knowing he had lost the battle. He slept; Jim guarded. 

Otherwise, Jim seemed to accept his return to civilization. He ate with a knife and fork; he used the bathroom; he took a shower; he had manners. The only thing missing was Jim's voice. 

The physical examination Blair and Jim had been given by the US doctor assigned to the Embassy declared both men fit. Blair had some bruising on his back that was quickly fading; otherwise, he was almost completely recovered from his ordeal. Soon, the only mark that would remain would be the wolf's head burned into his skin. 

Jim was in excellent shape, the doctor had informed Blair. There was no medical reason for his being mute; the cause was psychosomatic, the doctor said. It was no wonder with what the man endured for more than a dozen years. If being mute was his only lasting scar, he had gotten off lucky. 

\-------------------------------------------------

When they landed in Cascade on a cool and rainy Wednesday afternoon, Jim was immediately whisked away by the Army for debriefing, and Blair had no choice but to go home alone. He had pressed a piece of paper into Jim's hand, noting his name, address and telephone number. He had told Jim to contact him if he needed anything at all. Jim had distractedly nodded, but Blair wouldn't be deterred. 

“Listen, man. Since you aren't talking yet, and can't call yourself, e-mail me. Damn it to hell.” Blair rubbed his forehead, realizing that Jim wouldn't know about e-mail either. “Jim, just ask somebody to call for you... or send a damned telegram and I'll come and get you. Or come to my place. Just show up, okay? Do you understand? I don't want you to feel alone!” 

Jim distractedly nodded again, turned and walked away without looking back. Blair had watched, feeling abandoned. He also finally turned to leave and had walked for several yards when he had to look back. What he saw broke his heart. Jim was intently watching him with an unhappy look on his face, staring out of the window of the Army green suburban. Blair froze when their eyes met through the rain-slicked glass. He could practically feel Jim's distress, but then the Suburban sped away. 

Depressed at their separation, Blair had no choice but go to home. For a few days, he hung around his apartment, hoping that he would hear from Jim. He remained hopeful for the first couple of days, but when one week stretched into two, and then three, Blair finally realized that Jim wasn't coming, wasn't going to contact him at all. Finally, he gave himself a stern talking to. He had to move on. 

Blair didn't currently have a job since he had abandoned his expedition; he wasn't on the roster at Rainier for a teaching assignment, so he concentrated on finding something to do. His cash was running low, and he knew that he needed to work. After visiting the human resources director at Cascade Community college, Blair was lucky that one of the history professors was out for six months on maternity leave. History wasn't his subject, but he jumped at the chance to fill in when the job was offered to him. He was good at research, and the professor had given Blair her lesson plans, as well as several quiz and test outlines. Immersing himself in his new assignment, the next two weeks slowly crawled by. 

\---------------------------------------------

Rubbing his tired eyes, Blair closed down the laptop. He had been hard at work for the past several hours researching the life of Charlemagne and facts regarding his reign of the Holy Roman Empire. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms high over his head, twisting his neck around to get rid of the kinks. Rising, he put on a fresh pot of coffee and stood at the sink waiting for the hot brew when he heard a small sound at his front door. It wasn't a knock; more like a light scratch. 

Puzzled, Blair walked over and opened the door. He gasped. Jim Ellison stood in the hallway, dressed in an Army green camouflage jumpsuit and a baggy Army jacket. His face was drawn and the bags under his eyes made Blair wince. 

“Jim? Oh, my God. You look awful. Are you sick? Get in here, man.” Jim's eyes met Blair's. He gave what Blair took as a look of relief. He raised a hand in greeting, took a step forward and stumbled. Blair moved quickly. He raced to Jim's side and slipped his shoulder under Jim's arm, holding his waist. Jim's arm slipped across his shoulders, and his fingers clutched Blair's shirt. 

When he led his friend into the apartment, Blair could feel the small tremors coursing through Jim's body. Leading him to the sofa, Blair carefully lowered Jim down onto the worn cushions. When Jim's arm didn't release him, Blair sat down beside him. 

“Oh, man. You're totally exhausted,” Blair said softly, keeping his voice low. “Just relax. You're shaking! How about something hot to drink? I'll make you herbal tea. I have coffee, but I'll just bet your senses are going bananas. I don't think the caffeine is a good idea right now.” Jim reluctantly allowed Blair to move the arm around his shoulders so that he could help Jim shrug out of his jacket. “They're going nuts, aren't they?” 

Jim managed a slight nod. 

“Yeah, I figured they were acting up. Have you eaten? You look thinner. Was it awful?” Blair put a hand over his mouth when a bad thought occurred. “You didn't – run away, did you? Tell me the military isn't going to show up and kick in the door looking for you.” 

Jim shook his head, sighing softly. 

“You'll be okay once we get those senses under control. That worthless excuse for a human being kept you grounded even if he was a major asshole. Now you're on you own and your senses are acting up. I knew this would happen! I should have stayed with you, damn it!” Blair rose and paced, wringing his hands. “That fucking idiot! He served a purpose for a while, I guess. I'm happy you killed the bastard, but Jim, he did manage to help you keep your senses on an even keel, didn't he?” 

Jim rubbed his forehead before he slowly nodded. 

“Maybe I can help?” Blair sat back down and when his eyes met Jim's, Blair couldn't quite decipher his expression. It looked like a combination of confusion and uncertainty, mixed with the exhaustion. Before Blair had a chance to figure out what could make Jim feel better, Jim slid closer and pressed his forehead against Blair's shoulder. Unsure what he should do, Blair sat very still. Then Jim lifted his head and buried his nose in Blair's long, curly hair while his arm circled his friend's waist. 

Realization dawned. Jim was using him to ground his senses. “Jim?” Blair whispered. “Hey, it's okay. I'm here.” He comfortingly rubbed Jim's arm. “Just try to relax, and let me get you that tea. Okay?” 

Jim finally pulled away and released his hold. Blair rose slowly, smiling at the Sentinel. “I'm so glad to see you!” 

Jim nodded and his eyes brightened. He gave Blair a pleasant look and patted his own chest. 

“You're glad to see me, too? That's great, man. Just great. Now you take it easy for a while. Then you're lying down and sleeping. You look beat.” 

Jim shrugged. Blair scowled. “No arguing! Got it?” Realizing that he was being bossy, Blair ran a hand through his hair. “Geez, Jim. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to order you around. You had enough of that shit for all those years with that asshole. Sorry, man.” 

Jim shrugged again and gazed up at Blair, waiting patiently. 

“Oh, right. Tea. Right.” Blair hurried out into the small kitchen and microwaved a cup of water, dunked in a chamomile tea bag, added a bit of honey and carefully carried the hot liquid over to his companion. “Here you go. Drink up. I'm just going to go into my room and get you a pillow and blanket. Okay?” 

Jim gave a small nod and took a sip of the sweetened tea. When he made a small sound of pleasure at the taste, Blair smiled while his gaze took notice of Jim's condition. He had been so happy to see the man that he hadn't noticed that his hair was mussed and needed washing. His clothes were rumpled, and he looked as if he hadn't shaved in several days. Going into his bedroom, he pulled a pillow and a blanket from the rumpled bed. When he returned to the living room, Jim was finishing the tea. Blair fluffed the pillow and set it down at the end of the sofa. 

“Lie down. You need to sleep. You look positively wiped out. When you wake up, you can have a nice, hot shower, and a big meal.” At the look Jim gave him, Blair scowled. “Do not argue with me. I hate to be a hard-ass, but you need to rest. Now lie down.” 

Jim lifted the pillow from the sofa and buried his face into the material. After a few moments, he looked at Blair with amusement before he nodded. Blair waited until Jim had stretched out before he covered him with the blanket. He tucked the flannel around Jim's shoulders and lightly touched his forehead. 

“It will be okay,” Blair said softly. “I'll take care of you.” 

Blair knelt beside the sofa and rubbed his hand comfortingly up and down Jim's arm. “Good night.” He wasn't surprised when Jim's eyes closed and he soon slipped into sleep. The guy looked like he was practically dead on his feet. What did surprise Blair was that he'd made it to the apartment at all. It looked like he had been wandering around for a few days. Blair was immediately angry with the people who had first taken Jim; then apparently dumped him when they were finished with their debriefing. But at least they hadn't felt that Jim needed to be locked up in some mental institution somewhere. Realizing that he would never have known what had happened to Jim is that had happened, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was very thankful for small favors. 

Sitting beside the sofa, Blair watched Jim sleep for the longest time. He knew that Jim had lost some weight since he had last seen him. Even so, Blair was pleased beyond words that the Sentinel had come. He knew he had felt like he was falling in love with Jim when they were in Peru, but he had questioned his own feelings once they had separated. Now that he had seen Jim again, he knew without a doubt that he was in love with the man. 

However, he gave himself a stern talk. He would do everything in his power to help Jim control his senses. He would share what he had with the Sentinel, but he would not push himself on the man. After all, Jim had been held as a slave for a dozen years. He deserved to have plenty of time and space to decide who he was and what he wanted out of his new life. All Blair could do was hope and pray that he would be included in this new life, but the final decision was Jim's. Decision made, Blair allowed the happiness he felt having Jim close by to warm his heart. The man he loved was here and for now, that's all that mattered. 

\-------------------------------------------

“Hi, Jim,” Blair called brightly, pushing open the door with his foot, his arms full of bags. “I brought groceries, and a surprise.” 

Jim looked up from his place at the kitchen table where he was typing on Blair's laptop. He rose and smiled when he saw his friend's happy face. 

“You're looking pretty happy tonight,” Blair observed with a grin. When Jim took the grocery bags from Blair's hands, he set the bright blue bag he was carrying down onto the floor. Shrugging out of his jacket, he hung it on the coat tree beside the door. With a warm smile for his roomie, he said, “I love it when you smile. It's one of the best things to see. I'm glad you finally found it.” 

Jim rolled his eyes and shrugged, looking embarrassed. 

Blair laughed. “Don't get all shy with me, you big lug. Hey, guess what I have?” 

Jim placed the grocery sacks on the counter and started to unload the contents. He turned toward Blair and waited expectantly. 

“How's the writing coming?” Blair asked, nodding toward the computer. 

Jim held out his hand and flipped it side to side. 

“So-so? It takes practice. I remember writing my first paper in college. Man, I thought I'd never finish it. Besides, you need to remember it's been years since you touched a typewriter, and I think you're doing pretty darned good on that computer. I can't wait to read the first draft. Just think. You'll be a rich and famous adventure writer, and I'll be standing in line at the bookstore waiting for you to autograph my copy.” 

Jim smiled, blushing lightly at the compliment, before he crossed his arms and looked expectant. 

Blair playfully smacked his arm. “Oh, right. I did ask you to guess, didn't I?” 

Jim nodded. 

“Wait right there.” Blair grinned and retrieved the bag he had placed beside the coat rock. He brought it over to the table and dumped out the contents. Holding up the first item, a finely woven shirt, he turned to his friend. “This is for you. It's nice and soft, and I love this color. It will bring out the blue in your eyes. And a couple of pairs of brushed cotton khakis, too. Navy and tan. Pre-washed so they'll be nice against your skin.” Moving on to the next item, Blair held the new article against his own chest. “I had to buy this cashmere sweater. Do you like this burgundy color? Oh, and a pack of silk boxers. That Wal-Mart stuff we bought a few days ago is okay for every day but I wanted you to have something nicer. And another pack of those white socks you seem to like so much.” 

Blair prattled on while he cut the tags from the items, and held each one up for Jim's inspection. 

Jim's hand reached out and his fingers lightly touched the cotton shirt. Blair smiled when the Sentinel's face broke into a grin. He took the shirt from Blair's hand and rubbed it against his face. Then he ripped the packaging from the boxers and likewise ran the material down his face. He grinned and in one motion, slipped off the t-shirt he was wearing. While Blair was trying not to ogle Jim's muscled chest, Jim quickly yanked down the sweats and stood, naked, while he inspected the boxers again. 

Blair groaned softly when Jim rubbed the silky material against his own chest before slipping the boxers on. Blair quickly turned away before his body took interest in the naked man standing just inches from him. He fiddled with the other items on the table, and considered making a fast retreat when a thumb and finger circled his wrist. 

Swallowing hard, Blair dropped his head. “Please, Jim...” He tugged gently, trying to disengage the Sentinel's firm hold. Jim met Blair's gentle tug with one of his own, turning Blair toward him. He looked into Blair's eyes and smiled softly. It was a smile full of love and promises. “Oh, God...” Blair murmured, his throat suddenly dry. “Jim...” 

Jim took a step closer to Blair and very slowly rubbed the pad of his thumb over Blair's lower lip. Blair stood frozen in his tracks. What was Jim doing? His face looked all soft and dreamy. His eyes were warm and happy. He was leaning down... Blair's heart stopped and he held his breath. Unable to move, he closed his eyes. He knew what was going to happen, and his entire body waited in anticipation. 

Jim's lips touched his very lightly. Blair's eyes flew open and he trembled. The back of Jim's fingers caressed his cheek and touched his ear before the hand slipped through the curly hair to rest at the base of Blair's neck. His eyes searched Blair's face. Blair knew he must look stunned, but he also knew that he wanted Jim to kiss him again. 

“Jim...” Blair whispered, licking his lips. 

Jim smiled and with gentle pressure, guided Blair's face close to his. Their lips met again, softly and lightly. Jim sighed against Blair's mouth, making Blair moan softly. When the very tip of Jim's tongue touched Blair's lips, he trembled and parted his lips in invitation. Jim slipped his tongue in very slowly and with tentative movements, explored the warm depths before sliding out. Their lips stayed locked together. 

Blair's fingers clutched Jim's arm. He deepened the kiss. Jim responded, wrapping his arm around Blair's neck and pressing their lips firmly together. They kissed more passionately; each man's arms wrapped around the other. Their bodies pressed against each other. Blair felt himself growing hard and he ground his pelvis against Jim's thigh. 

Jim's hand snaked down and he cupped Blair's crotch in his palm. He explored the thickening erection through Blair's pants, and with nimble fingers, popped the button and unzipped the fly. Slipping his fingers into Blair's boxers, he released the hardening member. Blair gasped when Jim's hand wrapped around his penis. Jim pulled back from the kiss and smiled. While he stroked Blair's hardness, his lips laid a trail of quick, light kisses over Blair's entire face. Then he suddenly released his hold on Blair's shoulders and dropped to his knees. 

Blair looked down into the face of the man he loved. Jim smiled up at him. 

“No!” Blair's face paled; he said emphatically, “No, not on your knees!” 

Jim looked up questioningly. 

“That asshole made you kneel. You don't ever have to kneel again! Do you understand me?” Blair said firmly, tugging on Jim's arm to rise. 

Jim shook his head and held Blair's waist in his large hands. He pulled Blair closer. 

“What? No. You don't need to kneel! It's too much of a reminder for you! Please, Jim...” 

Jim rolled his eyes in exasperation before he smiled. He cleared his throat. “B..blair.” 

Blair's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Jim! Oh my God! You said my name!”

Jim grinned and taking advantage of Blair's momentary distraction, he took the head of Blair's now-softening penis into his mouth. 

“Jim!” Blair cried in surprise. “Oh, God... Jim!” 

Jim hummed happily around the semi-hard organ, making Blair gasp. His tongue flicked the underside of the crown, making Blair jerk. His lips moved against the heated skin, making Blair moan. 

“Jimjim. God, Jim...” Blair panted harshly as Jim's mouth, lips and tongue worked along the length of his penis thoroughly. Jim was noisy and sloppy; Blair realized that it was obvious that Jim had not done this before. With a jerk, Blair's hips thrust into the hot depths of Jim's throat before he tried to pull away. “Jim... Jim... You don't have to do this... Jim... You're not my – property. You don't owe me! Jim!” 

Releasing the glistening organ, Jim looked directly into Blair's face and said, “I... love... you.” 

“Jim?” Blair asked softly. 

Jim nodded and smiled. Blair was almost speechless. Not only had Jim spoke again, but he had said something that seemed quite important. Blair's brain didn't seem to be working. While he tried to comprehend what Jim had said, Jim took the opportunity to suck Blair's penis back into his mouth. He held Blair's ass in his hands and returned his attentions to his lover's body. In only a few minutes, Blair was crying Jim's name and coming in his mouth. 

“Oh, God... Oh, God...” Blair gasped. 

Jim rose and gathered Blair into his arms. He tipped his head back and kissed him relentlessly for many long minutes, before slipping his tongue into the welcome warmth.  
Blair had never been so thoroughly kissed before. He felt as if Jim wanted to crawl into his throat and never leave; as if he couldn't get enough of the taste of his lover. He willingly allowed Jim to explore as much as he wanted. In his post-orgasmic haze, he barely felt the clothes being stripped from his body and then being guided to the living room floor. 

Jim's hands were everywhere. His fingers thoroughly examined every inch of skin. He tasted Blair's body from head to foot; his tongue explored every recess, crevice and dip. He sniffed Blair's entire body. Blair actually blushed at the intimacy of Jim's inspection. He had never been touched like this before, but with Jim, it felt right. It seemed like Jim's careful scrutiny lasted forever, and he felt himself grow hard once again. His second, smaller organ unexpectedly zipped through him when he – and Jim's fingers -- discovered his prostate. 

\-----------------------------------------------

The hot water beating softly against his skin felt wonderful. Jim's hands on his body were as close to heaven as he'd ever been. Leaning against his lover, Blair relished the soapy hands, slick and tender, rubbing his flesh. The hands caressed his ass and moved upward, hesitating on his back. Groggy from their lovemaking and Jim's massaging hands, Blair glanced through half-closed eyes into Jim's face. 

“It's okay. It doesn't hurt. Not even a mark.” 

Jim's fingers found the small brand on Blair's flank and again, he hesitated, gently touching the healed area. 

Blair smiled lazily. “I thought about having it removed, but somehow it didn't seem like the right thing to do. I'm keeping it as a reminder. Not for the bad things, but because I found you. It matches yours. So if you want to have yours removed, I will too. Your call.” 

Jim kissed the side of Blair's neck. “No.” 

“No, you don't want it, or no, it's not a reminder, or no...” 

Jim's lips silenced him yet again, and they kissed ardently. Blair was the one to finally break the embrace. He looked into Jim's face and said as lovingly and compassionately as possible, “You didn't get hard.” 

Jim looked away. 

“No, look at me. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have let it go so far. It isn't fair to you!” 

“No,” Jim said softly. “I love you.” 

“Jim, please. No to what? No, it's your fault? No, I was not a selfish prick for letting you make love to me?” Blair felt his guilt building. “No, it's fair? How in the hell can I justify letting you make love to me when you can't enjoy it? When I can't give you pleasure?” Blair turned off the water and grabbed his robe. He yanked it on over his wet body before pulling a dry towel from the rack. Handing the towel to Jim, who stood with his arms crossed, he added, “It was wonderful, Jim. I love having you touch me. I love you, but...” 

“No!” Jim pressed his fingers against Blair's lips. “No, no, no.” 

Blair sighed and dropped a towel over his hair. He squeezed out the excess water before tossing it over the towel bar. “You have to understand how I...” 

“No!” Jim grabbed Blair's upper arms and crushed their mouths together. 

Blair's hands fluttered in the air for a moment before he fell into the kiss. His arms automatically wrapped around Jim's warm, slightly moist skin and he melted against his lover's body. When Jim finally released him, he was almost woozy from the passion of the kisses. 

“Oh, God, Jim... I love you so much. We need to fix this,” Blair said adamantly, clutching Jim's arms. “Together we will fix this!” 

Jim's response was to kiss Blair into silence – and Blair let him. 

\------------------------------------------------

The knock at the door woke Jim first. He abruptly sat up, waking Blair, who slept wrapped around his lover like a second skin. 

“What's wrong?” Blair asked groggily. 

Jim cocked his head. “Someone... in the hallway.” 

Blair smiled. Jim's voice was soft and deep, slightly husky and very sexy. Blair loved to listen to him talk, but Jim didn't waste many of his words. He was a quiet, somewhat solemn man, and Blair soon figured out that it was more than likely Jim's demeanor even before his incarceration. He had no doubt, however, that Jim's years in captivity had magnified these traits. 

Jim rose and was at the door before Blair had a chance to wonder who was here at 8 am on a Saturday morning. Slipping from the bed, Blair followed Jim, where he watched while his lover signed his name on an electronic signature capture pad. He took the envelope from the delivery person and after thanking the man, closed the door. 

Jim stood looking at the envelope. Blair read over his shoulder. 

“Hey, man. It's addressed to you, but no return address. Who sent it?” 

Jim shrugged. 

“Well, open it.” 

Ripping the tear strip across the top, Jim peered into the envelope before pulling out several sheets of paper. He glanced at the top one; then handed it to Blair. 

“It's your discharge papers. You've been discharged for physical reasons with an honorable record. That's good. So you're officially free from the military. Now you can really move on.” Blair glanced over the document before looking over at what Jim still held in his hands. Seeing Jim's pleased look, he asked, “What is it?” 

Jim turned the paper around and held it up for Blair to see. Blair's eyes grew wide and he gasped. 

“Is it real?”

“Yes.” 

“Wow. You're a rich man,” Blair said, looking at the cashier's check for five hundred thousand dollars. “Now you don't have to worry about money. You'll be able to go back to school, or get some kind of job training. You can even buy a place to live or pay rent for a long time, and not have to worry. That's great, Jim, really great.” 

Jim shrugged. “It's a lot of money.” 

“In one lump, it is, but think about it. You were missing for fifteen years. That's only about thirty-eight grand a year. I'd say the government got off cheap. You missed fifteen years of your life, not to mention promotions and pay raises, and that's only regarding your career. What about your private life? They should have given you twice that much!” 

“It's enough for us.” 

“Us?” Blair asked.

Jim's eyes searched Blair's face. He seemed to be searching for the right words to Blair, so he tried to be patient. When Jim finally said, “I want there to be an 'us'.” 

Blair's face lit up. “Me, too, Jim. I want us to be together. And now that you're rich, I'm even more willing to put up with you.” 

For a brief moment, Jim looked shocked before he realized that Blair was teasing. He smiled and moved closer to his lover. “You are a dork.” 

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.” 

Jim grinned, dropping the papers onto the nearest chair. He wrapped his arms around Blair's shoulders and kissed him deeply. Blair responded immediately, loving that Jim felt confident enough to initiate sex. He let Jim set the pace, as usual, and soon they were back in their bed, enjoying a lazy Saturday morning in each other's arms. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Their new home, a loft on Prospect Street, was wonderful. There were no walls separating the main living areas, something that Jim liked the second he stepped through the door the first time. The living room/dining room combination had a cathedral ceiling that soared two stories. The kitchen was tucked back under the floor of the loft's main bedroom, which was on the second floor, also open to the main area below. Skylights allowed light to flow into the bedroom, and although open, it was cozy. The bathroom was behind the kitchen and a spare room for an office and extra storage was tucked into the back corner. 

Large windows opened to a small balcony, and the view of the harbor and Cascade's skyline was spectacular. The floors were wood; the walls made of red brick. It was bright, airy, and most importantly, quiet. 

Blair had been pleasantly surprised to find that Jim was an excellent carpenter. However, Blair wasn't surprised to discover that Jim loved working with his hands. He had been the recipient of Jim's busy hands for several months now, and he knew how much talent lay there. 

Coming home from work every night was a delight. Blair was never disappointed. Jim worked daily on their new home. The floors were refinished. New bathroom fixtures were installed. The kitchen was refurbished. A great set of shelves appeared along one red brick wall of the living room, as well as a fireplace in a corner of the room for the long, cold winter nights. And to top it all off, Jim was turning into an excellent cook. 

The biggest thrill Blair experienced had been Jim's commitment gift to him. In the loft's bedroom, Jim had lovingly built a huge king-sized platform bed complete with storage drawers underneath. It had taken him two weeks to get it just right, and he had insisted that Blair not peek until he was finished. Blair was in love – with the new mattress Jim bought. It was a pillow-top, so comfortable that it was hard to stay awake once he climbed into bed. Jim complained that he should have installed a harder mattress so that Blair would stay awake long enough for Jim to make love to him. 

Jim had discovered that he could buy anything and everything from the Internet. The new sofas and chair, the dining set, the rugs on the floor, the pictures on the wall, and the office furniture, were all bought from home, and delivered right to the door. Jim loved – the Internet. Blair's commitment gift to Jim was a fast, new computer complete with all the bells and whistles, and Jim loved it also. 

Happily, the lovers settled into domestic bliss. 

\------------------------------------------

With a light heart, Blair parked his '99 Mazda Miata next to Jim's '69 Ford pickup. Blair smiled as he climbed from his car and gave the truck a gentle pat. Jim loved that truck. He had bought it from an older gentleman who had owned it since it was brand new. After swearing to take good care of “Sweetheart”, as the man had called his baby, Jim gleefully drove the truck home. Now it was almost always filled with wood, or paint, or some other supplies for his most recent home-improvement project. 

Blair's own dark blue convertible had been a gift from Jim, who had insisted that Blair pick out a newer model vehicle than his '66 Corvair. He had refused, but after several days during which Jim worked hard wearing him down, he finally agreed. After a thorough Sentinel inspection of several vehicles, and after Blair insisted that he wanted a pre-owned car, he had agreed that the Miata looked like a “Blair-car”, as Jim had called it. 

Blair smiled to himself and with quick, nimble steps, crossed the street toward 852. Today had been his last day at work for two weeks. Spring break started on Monday and he was excited about the trip he and Jim had been planning for several weeks. They were driving to Spokane to spend a few days with his mother, then they were heading south for another couple of days of fly fishing. Blair had made reservations at a bed and breakfast that Jim had found on the Internet that looked promising. Jim needed some time out of the city. He still had trouble sleeping sometimes, and Blair knew that Jim often worried about his impotency problem. Hopefully, this trip would allow Jim to forget for a little while, and bring him pleasure. 

Blair knew that Jim was still having trouble dealing with the residual affects of his years of captivity, and his dysfunction loomed large in his thoughts. Blair's reassurances that he was a thoughtful and considerate lover were often met with a quiet sigh and a disbelieving look. Otherwise, Jim was silent on the subject. The doctors with whom they had consulted all agreed: Jim's traumatic experience was the cause of his psychosomatic problem. Physically, he was deemed capable by the physicians. This fact made Jim feel like it was entirely his failure, and Blair knew he berated himself often for his lack of performance. 

Blair, for his part, allowed Jim to initiate sexual encounters, hoping that if he felt in control of their sex life, that he would not feel inadequate. Thankfully, Jim enjoyed giving Blair pleasure, so he couldn't keep his hands off his lover. Blair reaped the benefits, and he often felt guilty that he derived so much pleasure from Jim, while Jim's pleasure was limited to knowing that Blair was happy and well-loved. 

Whistling, he climbed the stairs, pleased to be home at last. When he opened the door, he saw Jim sitting very still on the sofa. 

“Honey, I'm home,” Blair called out brightly. 

Jim rose and turned toward Blair. “Chief...” He stopped and stood unmoving, looking a bit lost and unsure, and somehow very vulnerable. 

While the nickname Jim had recently started using made Blair smile, Jim's uneasiness gave him pause. “Hey, what's the matter?” Walking over to his lover, Blair stopped when he saw what Jim held in his hands. “Jim?”

Jim held out his hands. The length of rope was long enough to dangle for a couple of feet on each side from Jim's tight grip. “I must be yours.” 

“What? Geez, Jim...” 

“I must be – taken. Call it what you will. Claimed. I must be... A Sentinel must have a partner.” 

“I know that, but – taken; claimed? You want me to own you? For God's sake, Jim, you were a slave for twelve years. Isn't that enough claiming for a lifetime for you?” Blair vehemently shook his head and held up his hands. “No. No way.” 

“Chief, please. I don't mean for you to be upset! It isn't... I don't know...” 

Blair saw the struggle on his lover's face. “Tell me, Jim. Please. Help me to understand why you need this!” 

“Blair, I love you. More than words can say. When I ask you to make me yours, you must know that I am already yours here.” Jim pressed a hand over his own heart. “But here is a different story,” he added, pointing to his head. “I am committed to you for the rest of my life, but I need to be able to... make love to you! I need this!” 

Blair saw the despair in Jim's face and he almost cried. “God, Jim. Don't beg! Please!” He reached out and pulled Jim's head to his shoulder. “I love you.” 

Jim's arms circled Blair's waist and he held on tightly. “I love you. I am yours, Chief. This is the... final step. I've studied your research. A Sentinel must bond, for lack of a better word. I must. I can't stop this longing in my heart. Maybe it's in our nature. I don't know. I don't know,” he repeated with a muffled groan, pressing his face into Blair's neck. 

Blair breathed in deeply before releasing the breath. “What do you want me to do?”

“I will go up to our bedroom and wait for you. You will make me yours. Do you understand?” 

Blair swallowed before he answered, “Yes.” 

“I know what you've been doing, Chief. You let me be the one to pick when and where we made love. You let me have free rein and you allowed me to pleasure you in whatever way I wanted. You've never asked me for a thing. Did you know that? Not once. Whatever I did, you allowed me. Now you will tell me what to do, and you will take me to be yours. Tell me, Blair. Tell me that this will be okay, and that you won't hate me afterward.” Jim held out the rope, then he added softly, “Please.” 

Blair slowly took the rope from Jim's hands. “I could never hate you. I love you.” Blair swallowed. “If you need this, I won't say no. I've never... I don't want to hurt you!” 

“You will not hurt me. I trust you.” 

Blair's heart flipped at the trust reflected in Jim's eyes. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he asked, “Do you need to prepare?” 

“I have already done what needs to be done.”

“Okay. Good.” Squaring his shoulders, Blair nodded. “Now go upstairs, undress and sit on the side of the bed. Wait for me.” 

“Thank you,” Jim said softly, the relief evident in his tone. 

Blair almost smiled. “I'll be up in a minute.” 

Jim nodded once and then climbed the stairs quickly. When Blair saw the way Jim flew up the stairs, he shook his head. It was apparent that Jim was thrilled with Blair's acquiescence. After everything Jim had done for Blair, he wasn't going to disappoint his lover now. Blair finally smiled, thinking about how much Jim must love and trust him, and went to get ready. 

\---------------------------------------------

Blair climbed the stairs and stopped at the top. Jim sat on the side of the bed as he had asked. He looked vulnerable sitting there, naked, with his arms crossed. Blair's resolve almost crumbled. He could let Jim take him into his arms and caress him... But no. Jim needed this. He wouldn't have asked unless it was important to him, and Jim asked for very little. 

“Climb on the bed and put your hands on the second railing.” 

Jim did as he was bid, quickly moving to wrap his hands around one of the thick cables of wire that stretched across the edge of the loft that served as a safety barrier. Jim had chosen the railing himself. He had said he didn't want something that blocked their view of the harbor. They had often lain in bed and watched the sun rise over the skyline, and the moon glinting off the water. Now it seemed Jim had other uses for the railing. 

Blair wrapped the rope around Jim's wrists and then lightly tied the ends to the railing. He felt awkward tying the ropes tightly, and apparently, the illusion of being tethered was enough for Jim because when Blair looked into Jim's face, it was already covered with a light sheen of sweat. Blair could see the anticipation in his eyes while his breathing started to escalate. Their eyes met; Jim nodded, then dropped his head between his arms. 

Seeing Jim on his knees, hands tied, head bent, sent a stab of lust through Blair's body. Something primal screamed through him. This was his Sentinel and he wanted him badly. He quickly shucked off his robe and grabbed a tube of lube, climbing on the bed behind Jim. His hands automatically reached out, caressing the firm globes of Jim's ass. When Jim actually moaned at the touch, Blair's body reacted. He felt a flush of warmth. His nipples hardened. His penis slowly filled. 

Using his thumbs, he spread Jim's cheeks, then rubbed the tight pucker. Instinct told him that the Sentinel needed this from his Guide. It wasn't demanding or owning; it was deep rooted in their genes. Bond to each other. Claim each other. Blair groaned, juices from his body already dripping onto the sheets. 

Under Blair's hands, Jim's body trembled. He was silent, but his entire demeanor spoke volumes. Take me now!

Sucking a deep breath, Blair slowly blew it out. He uncapped the lube and slathered a large dollop on his fingers. Carefully, he pressed them into the tightness waiting for him. Slowly and gently, he patiently worked them into the willing body, pleased at the small moans that Jim started to make. When Jim's knees moved outwardly, Blair grunted in pleasure. He responded to the Sentinel's movement by pushing slowly until he was buried in the hot flesh. Giving Jim a few moments to adjust, he then started to work the slick channel with an even thrusting motion until Jim was pressing back to meet Blair's forward movement. 

Putting a hand on Jim's back, he stilled the Sentinel with a touch. Jim moaned deeply, his head hanging down, his body trembling, and his hands flexing on the wire. Please! Jim said wordlessly. 

“You are mine,” Blair growled, leaning down to place a small passion mark on Jim's ass cheek. Jim's muscles tightened around Blair's fingers, making Blair whimper with need when he thought of his own body linked to his mate's. His organ swelled even more, and he almost lost it at that moment, watching his fingers disappear into his Sentinel's body. With a small cry, Blair gently removed his fingers and carelessly wiped them on the sheets. 

Jim's cheek muscles twitched. He spread his legs wider. Silently, he lowered his forehead  
to the bed and raised his ass even more. Without saying a word, Blair understood. He slathered his cock, pressed even more lube into Jim's tight body, pressed himself against Jim's opening and pushed. 

Jim let out a huge sigh and relaxed. Blair slipped in easily, so easily that he sucked in his breath in shock as he watched his flesh disappear into his lover's body. When he was fully sheathed, Jim clenched him tightly, making Blair blow out the breath he was holding and grunt in surprise. 

Unable to rein in his need, he held Jim's hips and claimed his Sentinel. 

On each thrust, Blair whispered, “Mine... mine... mine....” 

On each thrust, Jim let out a small grunt of satisfaction. 

Blair shortened his strokes, observing Jim's reactions. Jim's body stiffened, letting Blair know that he was successful in finding Jim's prostate. Over and over, he nailed the small nub with short, choppy strokes until Jim was keening into the pillow under his face and his entire body shook. 

Blair pushed back into Jim's body as deeply as possible and stopped. He leaned over his lover's back, sucking and nibbling the sweat slick skin. Blair's hand reached around to lightly pinch the hard nipples, making Jim jerk in surprise. Pleased that his sensitive lover enjoyed nipple play, his lower body remained still while his hands explored for many minutes, rubbing the nipples again before skimming the firm, hairless chest and flat belly. Blair's fingers marched through Jim's pubic hair and almost as an afterthought, he touched Jim's penis. 

Hard flesh met his fingers. Blair's mouth opened in surprise before his lips turned up in a dazzling smile. He rolled his hips and pushed, eliciting a deep grunt from his lover. 

“I am your Guide,” Blair said adamantly, thrusting deeply before pulling back slightly. “Only I can make love to you. You belong to me, and I belong to you. You are mine!” Blair's hand found Jim's hard flesh and he stroked roughly. “Mine!” Blair cried, matching his thrusts to his strokes. 

Feeling his own orgasm mounting, he bit his lip, determined to bring his lover to orgasm before he took his own pleasure. Jim needed this. Jim deserved this! 

“Come for me, Sentinel. And only for me,” Blair ordered softly, caressing Jim's hardness. His fingers brushed over the rough brand that marred the smooth skin. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden rush of tenderness that surged through him. Focusing back on his mate, he growled, “Come now!” Pulling out until just the head of his penis was in Jim's body, he again thrust against Jim's prostate. 

Jim let out a long, low moan that rumbled from deep within his chest, more like a jaguar's growl, Blair realized. Then he came, spurting over Blair's fingers while Blair's hand coaxed even more semen from Jim's shaking body. 

“Yes, yes, yes. That's it! God, Jim! Ahhhh....” he cried, coating Jim's slick channel with his own seed. “Damn... Jim!” Blair collapsed against Jim's back, and lay panting for a few moments before he moved to the side. “Jim...” Gently pulling out, he scrambled up to release Jim's hands. The moment he did, Jim's arms pulled him close, crushing Blair to his chest. His mouth kissed the sweaty scalp before finding Blair's ear. 

“Love you, Chief,” Jim said softly, then his eyes closed and he went limp. 

“Jim?” Blair anxiously rolled his lover to his back. He looked into the serenely smiling face and grinned. Apparently, the first orgasm Jim had experienced in more than twelve years had sapped his strength. He was dead to the world, deeply asleep. Blair laughed aloud. Jim had not only a hard-on, but an orgasm! And a big, messy one at that. With a tender smile, Blair found the baby wipes and cleaned away the worst of the mess they had made. He grinned stupidly while he tossed the used wipes away, and he continued to grin while he made himself comfortable next to his lover, covering their cooling bodies with a clean sheet and two blankets. 

Blair kissed Jim's nose. “Good night, my sweet prince.” Laughing at himself for his sappy remark, he wrapped his arms around Jim's waist and pillowed his head on his shoulder. With a satisfied smile, Blair drifted to sleep. 

\-----------------------------------------------

“Hey, sleepy-head. Hungry?” 

Blair knew Jim heard his soft words, full of tenderness, because he let out a contented sigh , then his face broke into a smile even before he opened his eyes. 

“I love you,” Blair murmured, leaning down to kiss Jim's cheek. 

“You, too. Always.” Jim stretched his long body and gave a small grunt. 

“Sore?” Blair asked with concern. “Did I hurt...?” 

“No,” Jim interrupted, his eyes searching Blair's face. “Don't even start any guilt trip with me, Chief. I feel absolutely fantastic.” Rubbing his messy hair, Jim sat up and pulled Blair into his arms. Nuzzling the damp hair, he breathed deeply. 

“I took a shower, but I waited for you for dinner. I'm starving!” 

Jim snorted. “I could eat you up.” 

Blair laughed. “Did you – like it?” 

Jim held Blair at arm's length and his eyes searched his lover's face. “I loved it. You have saved me yet again, Blair. I owe you my life.” 

“Oh, for God's sake. Stop with the pledges of undying love and gratitude, and tell me what you want for dinner.” 

Jim laughed and ruffled Blair's hair. “It's midnight. Kind of late for dinner.” 

“I could eat a horse. Speaking of horses, I have two steaks marinating in the fridge. I had planned on grilling them when I got home from work, but apparently, you had other ideas.” 

Jim chuckled. “So, you don't have to go to work in the morning. I'm building bookshelves in the spare room. Since neither of us has to answer to the alarm, we can grill right now.” 

“Jim, it's dark outside.” 

“What? You've never heard of a flashlight?” 

Blair laughed with delight. “One hot grill, coming up. Come on! You make the salad and some garlic bread. I'll grill the steaks. We'll have a picnic in front of the fireplace.” 

“You know why I love you?” Jim asked as he pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. 

Blair shook his head, opting for a long-sleeved sweatshirt and sweat pants. 

“Because,” Jim said confidently. 

“Because?” 

“Yes.” 

“Jim?” 

“Right here, Chief.” 

“Me, too. I love you, because.” 

Jim smiled and touched a finger to the tip of Blair's nose. “That's all I need.” 

Blair smiled. “Other than food.” 

“Other than food,” Jim happily agreed. 

Blair's eyes met Jim; he reached out to take his hand. Very softly, he said, “You're free now, Jim.” 

Jim nodded slowly, and giving Blair a dazzling smile, complete with eye crinkles, he responded quietly, “Yes, Dr. Blair Sandburg, thanks to you, now I am truly free.”


End file.
